The Wronski Feint
by dogsrock101
Summary: Cara McDouglas and Oliver Wood have never seen eye-to-eye. She dislikes Quidditch. He lives and breathes it. But when Lockhart makes unwanted advances on McDouglas, she and Wood must set aside their differences. They agree to fake a relationship in order to get Lockhart off her tail. Should be easy, right?
1. The Dilemma

_Hello everyone! Dogsrock101 here. I haven't posted in this fandom since I finished my Marauders fic a year and a half ago. Pretty excited be writing another HP fic! Originally this was only supposed to be a one-shot, but...I got a little carried away. I will warn you now that I am pretty bad when it comes to updating - I try to do it once a month, but sometimes life gets in the way. I'm hoping this story will be 10 chapters max, but like I said earlier, I do tend to get a little carried away...What can I say? I can't let a story hanging when inspiration hits._

 _Enjoy! Please review and let me know what you think! Constructive criticism is always welcome :)_

* * *

"We better not get detention for this," grumbled Alicia darkly. Dressed in her Quidditch uniform and tracking mud with her every step, she walked alongside her team in the dark corridors. It was past curfew and all the students were back in their dorms. Except for them, that was.

"If we do, Wood oughta take full responsibility," Fred said brightly. Unlike Alicia, he wasn't worried about receiving detention; he and George were immune to them. "You are, after all, our Captain."

"It's your duty to take responsibility for your team," quipped George.

"It _is_ your fault we're coming in after curfew," Angelina pointed out.

"'Lright, I get it!" Oliver growled, glaring at his teammates. "I lost track of time! I'm sorry, okay?"

Alicia rolled her eyes and huffed irritably. Katie shook her head and patted her on the shoulder.

"It's okay, Oliver," smiled Harry. "We know how you can get…" He struggled to find the appropriate word. " _Caught up_ during practice sometimes."

The team exchanged looks. "Caught up?" scoffed Fred incredulously. "That's putting it nicely."

Oliver scowled. Before he had a chance to retort, however, a shout of "Who's there?" from down the corridor made him clamp his mouth shut. The team looked at each other, horrified.

"Go!" hissed Wood, shooing his teammates away. They stared at him, appalled. They'd only been joking earlier about having him take the blame; they couldn't possibly leave him behind. The team always had to stick together.

"But Oliver–!" Katie started.

"I'm taking full responsibility for this," he replied, pushing her away. "Go on, now." His firm tone became somewhat panicked as he explained, "Imagine if he gives all of us detention on the day of the game!"

Of course that's what he was worried about. He wasn't worried about receiving detention; he was worried about losing the game. His teammates then understood that the best thing for them to do was to follow Oliver's orders. That was what they always did, after all, wasn't it? The Quidditch Captain may have been a bit mad, but he always had some form of logic and reasoning behind his plays.

"We owe you one, mate!" George clamped Oliver on the shoulder, grinning. Fred winked and blew him a kiss goodbye before the team turned tail and ran down the corridor to their right. Oliver sighed, watching them leave with both a sense of relief and loss. He wasn't particularly excited about receiving detention, but there'd be a much better chance of Gryffindor beating Slytherin if he was the only one missing out on the game.

He turned his attention to the figure who was quickly approaching him. A handsome face with wavy blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes greeted him. Oliver didn't know whether or not he should be grateful that it had been Lockhart who'd caught him.

"Mr. Wood!" Lockhart said in surprise. "What're you doing up past curfew?" He paused, his bright blue eyes narrowing suspiciously. "I thought I heard voices. Are there more of you?" He glanced around himself. But the other Gryffindors were long gone; only Oliver stood before him.

"I was talking to Nearly Headless Nick, sir," Oliver lied. He was rather surprised at himself for being able to come up with the lie so quickly. He supposed Fred and George had been rubbing off on him. "He was lecturing me on wandering the corridors past curfew."

"And with good reason!" huffed Lockhart, placing a hand on his hip. "You do know it is against school policy to stay up past curfew?"

"Aye, sir. I'm sorry." He scratched the back of his head, trying to appear sheepish. "I'd lost track of time during practice."

Lockhart lowered his wand and grimaced at Oliver's mud-caked uniform. "That's no excuse, Mr. Wood. You ought to know better than this! What kind of example are you setting for the First Years?"

He shrugged. "Well, seeing that none of them are up to bear witness to this, I wouldn't say I'm setting any sort of example."

The new professor's handsome face scrunched into a scowl. "Don't get smart with me, young man! I may be new here, but I am still your professor, and I expect to be treated as such!"

Wood resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _Maybe if you actually knew what the ruddy hell you were doing with your wand I would._

"Is there a problem here?" an Irish lilt entered the conversation. For a brief second Oliver thought his worst fears had come true; he thought the voice belonged to his Head of House. But it wasn't McGonagall's green robes or pointy hat that approached him. Blue and bronze robes swished along the floor and a Headgirl badge shined at him. As the illuminated wand rose, it revealed the face of its owner. A fair-faced Cara McDouglas blinked her grey eyes at him. The freckles across her nose and cheeks were especially visible in the light of her wand.

Oliver gritted his teeth. He'd thought McGonagall would be bad, but McDouglas? She was even worse.

Oliver and McDouglas had notoriously been at each other's throats since his First Year. They'd never seen eye-to-eye. Ever since the lass had called Quidditch 'dull and overrated', he'd termed her as an enemy. She was the only witch he'd met who didn't like Quidditch, and perhaps he would've respected that if she didn't bash on the sport so much. He remembered the time they had nearly set the library on fire after a particular row they'd had. Though, in retrospect, that had been his fault. He'd been blabbing about Quidditch in the library while, on the other side of the bookshelf, she'd been studying for her O.W.L.s. After he'd taken them himself, he understood now why she'd been so stressed and easily irritable that day.

Still, her personality wasn't particularly pleasing. She may have been pretty and smart (some even called her "charming" for reasons he couldn't fathom to understand), but Oliver knew there was more to her than appeared on the surface. She was arrogant and stubborn and had a stick up her wound-up arse. It was no wonder that Percy Weasely had had the goo-goo eyes for her since First Year. They were a match made in heaven.

"Miss. McDouglas!" greeted Lockhart in surprise. Oliver couldn't help but notice that the professor seemed to brighten up excitedly. "What're you doing out in the corridors alone?"

She crinkled her brows in confusion. "Patrolling, of course, sir."

"It's dangerous, my dear, to be patrolling on your own." He waggled a finger at her playfully. "After that… _message_ left on the walls the other night" – He shivered – "we need to be especially vigilant." He paused, and Oliver didn't like the mischief that flickered in the professor's eyes. "I'd be more than happy to patrol the corridors with you."

Oliver didn't know whether to laugh or puke.

She smiled tightly. "As much as I would enjoy that, sir, I'm afraid that would be a little unfair to Hilliard, don't you think?" She chuckled. "Usually we patrol together, but the poor lad's not feeling well tonight."

"Ah, yes, of course." There was no hiding the disappointment in Lockhart's voice. "Well, should you ever require any assistance, don't hesitate to reach out to me."

She smiled sweetly. Oliver supposed he couldn't blame the professor for his blatant flirtations; she looked rather like an angel. "Thank you, Professor. That is very kind of you to offer."

Oliver cleared his throat loudly. He didn't think he could handle another moment of this shite. Lockhart jumped in surprise and stared at Wood as if seeing him for the first time. McDouglas, however, maintained her cool.

"Erm, yes, Mr. Wood." Lockhart ran his fingers through his fluffy blonde hair. "I believe a detention is in order for you."

"Actually, Professor," quipped McDouglas. "Would it be alright if I issue the detention to him? I have just the thing for him."

Oliver glared at her and bit hard on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from cursing at her.

Lockhart, being the gentleman he was, was most eager to please her. "Why, of course! I trust you will find a most suitable punishment for him."

She smirked. "Indeed I shall." She took Oliver by the arm. "Come along, Wood, we have much to discuss."

She practically dragged the Scotsman off, rounding the corner after a hasty good night to Lockhart.

"Ouch, lass, easy on the arm!" Oliver cried out, trying to yank himself from her grip. The Irish lass had a surprisingly ironclad grip from which he could not escape. She said nothing as they rounded another corner. She glanced over her shoulder before opening the door to an empty classroom on their right. Once they entered, she finally released her grip on him. He scowled and rubbed his arm. "What's going on?" he demanded. "Are you going to make me write lines until daybreak?"

She rolled her eyes impatiently. "Don't get your kilt in a knot. Really, you can be _such_ a drama queen."

He glared at her. "Then what are we doing here?"

"Hiding from Lockhart," she replied matter-of-factedly. "You were just my excuse to get away." She glanced out the window of the door, as if expecting him to pop out at any second.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Hiding from him?"

"You saw the way the bloke was drooling over me." Aye, cue the vanity. She turned to him, folding her arms across her chest. "You better not start any rumors, Wood. The last thing I need is my hard-earned reputation getting ruined during my last year here due to some supposed 'scandal'." She paused. "Honestly, I'm surprised the rumors haven't started already. He makes it quite obvious during class that he fancies me."

Oliver grimaced. He could just imagine Lockhart casually winking at her during class. "And you don't fancy him? I could name a dozen girls who would do anything to be in your place." He recalled the giggling Sixth Year girls in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

She crinkled her nose in disgust. "The man's got a good ten years on me. He may be good-looking, but his brain is the size of a Knut while his ego's the size of a Hippogriff. He's bloody pathetic, he is. I swear, even a First Year can do better magic than him."

She may have had bad taste in sports, but at least she knew what she was talking about when it came to men. Oliver found it refreshing to finally find a girl who wasn't starry-eyed over their new professor. "Why don't you just tell him you're not interested?"

She rolled her eyes impatiently. "Did you get hit in the head with a Bludger when you were a baby or something? Is that why you're so dense and Quidditch-obsessed?"

He glared at her. "Make your point."

She sighed. "First off, if I told him I wasn't interested, he would probably deny fancying me in the first place. Or he would think that I was doing it to protect him, or some shite like that, because he couldn't possibly imagine a woman not being interested in him. Either way, nothing would change. If anything, he might even try harder."

"You've put some thought into this, haven't you?"

She rolled her eyes again. "Of course I have. I've been trying to get out of this situation since the first week of classes." Sighing, she ran her fingers tiredly through her strawberry blonde hair. She slumped into an empty chair. "I don't know what to do, other than hope he gives up. But knowing him, I doubt he ever will."

Oliver took a sat across from her. "Why don't you tell Flitwick, then? He's your Head of House, he should be able to do something about this."

"It's my word against a professor's." She raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think he'd believe me?"

"Aye, I do, actually." She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Flitwick knows you well. Lockhart has a reputation, too. I'm sure he could help you out."

She hesitated, kicking at the floor. "I dunno."

"The longer you wait, the worse it's going to get," he put bluntly.

She leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling. "'Lright, let's say I tell Flitwick and he puts an end to this. Lockhart would hate me and give me bad grades in return. He'd probably take points off Ravenclaw and give me detention and that nonsense, but it's my grades that concern me. I've worked too damn hard for them these seven years to let some blonde maggot ruin all my hard work."

"Maybe he'll get sacked," offered Oliver. "Surely it's against school rules for a professor to get involved with a student."

"The thing is, he's only flirted with me. He hasn't actually _done_ anything, y'know?" She shrugged. "I feel like he'd be written off with a warning and that would be the end of it. Though I wish he would get sacked," she added. "Besides, I hear they've been having difficulty recruiting for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. The last thing Dumbledore needs is to find another professor to fill Lockhart's spot."

Oliver sighed. "You can't keep making these excuses. You need to tell someone."

"I'm telling you, aren't I?" she quipped smartly. He rolled his eyes.

"Someone with authority," he clarified.

"I think the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain has quite a bit of authority," she sniffed. "You're a celebrity 'round these parts."

He didn't know whether to scowl or sigh. "McDouglas, this is serious."

Her eyes flashed angrily. "I _am_ being serious." She stood abruptly. "I can handle myself. I don't need a professor's intervention or a Gryffindor's advice. Now, I suggest you head back to your Common Room. I'll let you off this one time, as long as you promise not to advertise it. I do have a reputation to uphold." She stuck her nose in the air.

"We're not done here," argued Oliver, standing up as well. "You can't brush aside this issue. What Lockhart's doing is harassment, and you can't ignore that."

"And what're you going to do about it?" she sneered unattractively. "You Gryffindors always have to play the part of the hero, don't you? Let me tell you, Wood, this Ravenclaw is no damsel in distress and you are most certainly no knight in shining armor." She eyed his muddy uniform distastefully. "Now, before I change my mind about giving you detention, I bid you _good night_." Her tone was one of finality. She turned her back on him and swept out of the classroom without a backwards glance.

Oliver sighed and ran his fingers through his hair tiredly. "Damn Ravenclaws," he muttered. "They always think they can figure out problems on their own."


	2. A Proposition

_**Please note:** The title of this story has been changed from "Her Keeper in Muddy Uniform" to "The Wronski Feint" (for those of you who followed/favorited my story before I changed the title). The plot remains the same.  
_

* * *

His class was, as usual, captivated by his story. He could tell by the way their eyes were glazed over in awe. And awed they ought to have felt – he was, after all, recounting a story about how he had saved a young girl's life from a fire-breathing dragon! Lockhart grinned easily and bounced around the room, gesturing grandly as he recalled his tale. Unbeknownst to them (and the rest of the wizarding world, for that matter) this daring tale of adventure was not his. It had actually been Jürgen Ziegler, dragon archeologist, who had saved the terrified girl from the clutches of the German Greentail. But what kind of a newspaper would want to splash such gaudy titles and names on its headlines? No, it was Gilderoy Lockhart, wizard extraordinaire, who had the looks and the charm to pull off a front page story.

"The dragon was catching up quickly, the sly creature. But I was even slyer!" Lockhart chuckled and threw back his mane of blonde hair. "I knew the dragon's weak spot, you see. Does anybody know what a dragon's weakness is?"

He paused and glanced around the room expectantly. All he received was blank stares. He frowned. "C'mon, now! You're all Seventh Years! You ought to know this!" He was certain even young Hermione Granger could've answered this question!

A tentative hand rose in the air. Lockhart brightened and pointed eagerly at the Hufflepuff in the first row. "Yes, Miss. Stimpson?"

"Is it…is it the dragon's underbelly, sir?" she asked uncertainly.

"Actually, it's the eyes! But nice try!" His smile was encouraging. She blushed and slid further down her chair, mumbling something about rabbits – hobbits? – that didn't quite make sense. Lockhart decided not to comment and continued his story with renewed enthusiasm, explaining how he had managed to blind the dragon in one eye. As he walked around in front of the classroom, one of his students caught his eye (though he supposed she always did). Unlike all the other students who were staring reverently at him, Miss. McDouglas's head was down, scribbling furiously on her parchment. No doubt she was taking detailed notes on his exploits. Lockhart couldn't help but grin slightly. It was no wonder she was in the top of her year! Not only was she studious, she was charming and pretty too. If she wasn't his student, he would've asked her out by now. The age gap didn't bother him much. They were only ten years apart, and with this youthful looks and personality and her mature demeanor it made little difference. She was just his type – it was as if the two of them were practically _made_ for each other! With his brilliance and good looks and her charm and wit, they would make headlines. Oh, he could see it now! They would be the 'it' couple, the power couple. All of Europe would be talking about how the most eligible bachelor in Britain had finally been snagged off the market!

There was only one problem: she was his student and he her professor. Just imagine the scandal should anyone find out. His teaching career would be ruined and his image tarnished. They would have to be extremely discrete and careful during the school year, should he decide to seriously pursue her. Of course once she graduated they could make it official. But Lockhart wasn't exactly planning ahead that far – he had never been the kind of man to wait on a woman (unless she was "getting ready" in the loo) and McDouglas was no exception. But who was to say he couldn't have a little fun now and see where it took them?

Cara sighed to herself. She dropped her quill and leaned back in her chair, smiling in accomplishment and relief. It may have taken her most of the class period, but she'd finished her Transfiguration homework. It certainly wasn't her best work. She would normally never dare finish homework the day it was due – she often finished it days ahead of time. However, she'd been patrolling more than usual as of late, both due to Robbie's absence and also to cover for other Prefects' shifts, and had had little time to study. And of course Oliver Wood had happened last night. She'd gotten little sleep last night since she'd tossed and turned in her bed all night, irritated by what he'd said to her. She hated the way he'd talked down to her, acting as if he understood the position she was in. Hah. The only thing he understood was that bloody game of Quidditch. He was oblivious to everything else. And a matter this delicate? It was far too complicated for his simple mind.

She glanced around the classroom. Everybody was either staring blankly at Lockhart with glassy eyes (clearly bored out of their minds) or doodling. She glanced at Robbie on her left. His head was drooping and his glasses were falling down his nose. She could see a little bit of drool forming in the side of his mouth. Normally she would've nudged him awake (it would've made the pair of them look bad if the Headboy was caught sleeping in class!) but, knowing he still wasn't feeling very well, she decided against it. Besides, it wasn't like he was missing anything important. Lockhart was just reciting another one of his bloody heroic tales. That was what he did every class. They never actually _learned_ anything. Anything related to the actual subject matter, that was. She certainly learned far more than she ever would've cared for about Gilderoy Lockhart. The bastard was so full of himself she wondered how he didn't self-implode, so blown-up his ego was. Little did he know that _nobody gave a rat's arse_ about what he had to say. Honestly, it was ridiculous. To think that this was a Seventh Year N.E.W.T.s class! It was an embarrassment, really. A waste of her time. She could've taught the class better than him.

She was grateful when the bell rang. Robbie jerked awake beside her. He blinked around blearily and yawned widely.

"What'd I miss?" he mumbled, wiping the drool off his striped yellow and black necktie.

"I wouldn't know," she laughed. "I was working on my Transfiguration homework."

"You did your homework during another class?!" he gasped faux-dramatically. "I don't even know who you are anymore." They stood and gathered their belongings.

She rolled her eyes. "I guess I'm becoming a bit of a rebel," she joked. "Must be Drey rubbing off on me."

The mention of their friend's name made him grin. "Dumbledore's gonna take that Headgirl badge from you if you keep going at this rate, missy." He waggled a finger at her sternly, his brown eyes alight with amusement.

"That's if you don't take it from me first, right?" she grinned, shouldering her bag.

"Oh, Miss. McDouglas!" a voice called out to her from behind. "Might I have a word?"

She grimaced. Robbie stiffened. All traces of good humor vanished from his face. "You gonna be alright?" he murmured out the corner of his mouth, his brows knotted anxiously.

She smiled tiredly and waved him off. "Yeah, I can handle him. I'll see you later." Reassuringly she patted him on the shoulder before making her dreaded walk towards the front of the classroom. Robbie stared after her worriedly before departing for his next class.

"Yes, Professor?" Cara asked, forcing a sweet smile on her lips as she came to a halt before Lockhart. He was leaned back casually against his desk, and she had a distinct feeling this was his attempt at trying to appear 'cool.' Other female students may have fawned over the way he looked like a model in that moment, with his long legs stretched and his blonde hair glowing like a halo on his head, but Cara inwardly cringed. Handsome as he may have been, his arrogance and stupidity made him less attractive to her.

"I couldn't help but notice how vigorously you'd been taking notes in class today." He grinned his white teeth at her and gestured at the rolled-up parchment protruding from her book bag. Her smile became uneasy and she casually stuffed the parchment further down her bag. She hoped he wouldn't ask to see her 'notes.' "You must be very passionate about this subject."

"Yes, sir, I find it quite fascinating. And it's very important as well – one can never be too sure these days." She thought back to the message on the wall that had been discovered nights ago...

 _The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir beware._

She remembered how Filch had been howling in distraught at the sight of his Petrified cat. She remembered Cedric's pale face and Percy's shaky voice as they had been directed to keep the students at bay. And what had scared her beyond all – more than the message written in blood, more than the Petrified cat – had been the look of worry and unease in the Headmaster's eyes. If Dumbledore was worried...

Lockhart shook her from her thoughts. "Very true," he agreed, nodding. "Defending yourself against the Dark Arts is a crucial skill to have in your life. Thankfully, I have a lot of skill in the field!" He grinned. "If you ever need any pointers, feel free to ask anytime!"

She smiled tightly, instead of scrunching her nose in disgust like she wanted to. The only skill he had was bragging about himself. She wondered how desperate Dumbledore must've been to hire such an incompetent and narcissistic man. But she knew there was no point in wondering – nobody could really ever fully understand why Dumbledore did or said the things he did. "Thank you, sir. I'll definitely keep that offer in mind." As if. She'd sooner go to Filch for advice than him. "If that's all, Professor, I really must get going. I have Transfiguration soon."

He chuckled. "I know you like to be punctual, but this will only take a few minutes more of your time. If you do end up arriving to class late, tell Professor McGonagall that I held you back after class. She won't hold it against you." She resigned herself because he was right – this was a completely acceptable reason to arrive to class late. (Though she was sure McGonagall would've let her off this one time even if it hadn't been an excusable reason, since she always showed up on time.)

He shoved himself off the desk. He circled around it and plopped down in his gaudy velvet chair. "Because you're a Seventh Year, I am most interested in hearing about what you plan on doing after you graduate. Now," he added appeasingly, "I realize that you must've had this conversation with Professor Flitwick already. But as your professor I feel that it is my duty and obligation to ensure that my students are making the most of their educational experience – and how that education will translate into the future. Do you think we could maybe chat about this over a cup of tea sometime soon?"

She blinked at him. If she didn't know any better, this was his attempt at a date. Surely he wasn't asking every Seventh Year student to drink a cup of tea with him to 'discuss their future.' "Oh! I'd love to, sir," she lied, pretending to be pleasantly surprised, "but I'm not sure where I'll find the time. You see, I've been really busy lately with patrol and extracurriculars–"

He laughed. "It's just a cup of tea, Miss. McDouglas. Not even a half hour of your time. We can always do it on the weekend as well – but not this Saturday, of course, because as we know it's the first Quidditch game of the season!" He grinned, his bright blue eyes dancing excitedly. She wisely decided not to mention her lack of interest in Quidditch and that she hadn't gone to a game since her First Year. Instead, she forced a smile on her face.

"Very well, sir. Perhaps sometime next week." The bell rang, signaling that the next class had started. She was definitely late for Transfiguration now. "Can I get back to you once I figure out my schedule?"

"Of course! Let me know once you've got it figured out!"

"I'll let you know as soon as I can!" She made to leave. "I'll see you next class, Professor!" She waved him goodbye, and as soon as her back was turned to him the smile was replaced by a grimace. Just her luck. Not only was she exhausted and late for Transfiguration, but now she'd just promised to go on a date with Lockhart. What was she going to do?

* * *

"When the Seeker" – Oliver pointed at the floating carrot – "catches the Snitch" – He indicated the small fragment of cauliflower zooming around – "the team earns 150 points and the game is over. It isn't until the Snitch is caught that the game is over," he emphasized.

Little Collin Creevey's eyes were wide in amazement. "So what if it takes _days_?!"

"Not just days, Collin," Oliver replied seriously, "but months. The longest game to date took three months to end."

Collin's mouth dropped comically. "But won't the players starve to death?!"

Oliver laughed. The lad's enthusiasm and naivety was cute, even though he could get a little annoying at times. "They have breaks. They're not spending the entire time on their broomsticks. But still," he added when Collin blushed in embarrassment, "it's a long time to play a game. That's why it's always important to have a Seeker on your team with not just a good eye, but a good sense, almost like a Niffler. It's instinctual."

Collin made a silent note to self to look up what a Niffler was. "Which is why Harry's so good at it, right?" Collin's eyes sparkled admiringly, reminding Oliver of the way the girls would stare dreamily at Lockhart.

"Right," grinned Oliver. "And you've got to be a good team player too, of course, and have a knack for the game. Harry's a natural." And he was always eager to learn, too, never once letting the fact that he was the youngest Seeker in the history of the school get to his head. Oliver was always pleasantly surprised by the lad's maturity. It must've had something to do with the fact that he'd saved all of wizard kind and whatnot.

"Are there any special moves the Seekers have?" Collin asked curiously. "Like, to trick their opponent, maybe?"

"Good question," Oliver said cheerfully, eager to explain. "There are many different tactics Seekers use, for different reasons. When it comes to tricking the opponent, my favorite move is the Wronski Feint. It's a dangerous move where–"

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to play with your food?" came a teasing voice to their left. Alicia, Angelina, and Katie approached the two of them. Alicia's eyes sparkled with humor. Angelina and Katie laughed when they saw the floating vegetables between Collin and Oliver. Oliver had bewitched the vegetables in order to resemble Quidditch players so that he could explain the game to Collin. It wasn't like he was going to eat them, anyway – he might as well have put them to good use.

"Oh, sod off," he replied playfully. "I'm teaching Collin here the beauty of Quidditch." He turned towards the First Year. "Say, how about you tell Alicia which vegetable she is?"

Collin's expression became childish and mischievous. Grinning from ear-to-ear, he giggled, "The Brussels sprout."

"Oh, a Brussels sprout, am I?" sneered Alicia, putting her hands on her hips. Though her expression appeared irritated, her eyes revealed her amusement. "Then you must be the potato, Wood."

"Actually," Oliver corrected, lifting his nose in the air all high-and-mighty, "I'm the broccoli."

Angelina snorted. "As if that's any better."

"Broccoli does taste better than Brussels sprouts," pointed out Katie.

Alicia raised her eyebrows and her lips curved up into a mischievous smirk. "Are you saying that Oliver _tastes_ better than me, Katie? Just how would you know that?"

Katie flushed a vivid red, quickly realizing her mistake. Oliver rolled his eyes. Collin frowned in confusion, far too young and innocent to recognize the insinuation.

"I just meant that he's implying he's better than you!" she stuttered, shoving Alicia. "Nothing else!"

Angelina shook her head. "I just can't believe we're still talking about these vegetables as if they're actually us." She paused, staring curiously at the floating vegetables. "The Weasleys must be the red peppers, I take it?"

Oliver laughed. "Aye. I figured it suited them best." The two red peppers were whacking each other at the moment.

"That's them all right," laughed Angelina.

"Speaking of which…" Alicia trailed off, pointing at the three Weasley brothers sitting a few seats down from them. Fred and George appeared to be arguing with their older brother.

"Aw, c'mon Perce," whined Fred. "We're your _brothers_! Can't you just let us off this one time?"

It sounded like the duo had, once again, gotten themselves into detention.

"No," Percy replied in a clipped tone. He didn't even spare a glance their way as he cut into his steak. "You broke the school rules, and you're getting the appropriate punishment for it. It doesn't matter whether or not you're my family – in fact, it'd be unfair if I gave you two special treatment. That," he said dramatically, "would be favoritism."

"But we _are_ your favorite twin brothers," cried George. Percy rolled his eyes and mumbled about how they were his only twin brothers.

All thoughts about his brothers were brushed aside, however, when Cara McDouglas passed by the Gryffindor table. "Cara!" he called out eagerly, waving her over. He didn't notice Penelope Clearwater glance between them sadly and wistfully while she walked by. He also was oblivious at the way his brothers scowled. Like Wood, they too had their reservations when it came to McDouglas. Unlike Wood, however, it wasn't because of her dislike of Quidditch (though that was added annoyance). It was because she had written them up as many times as Percy had and showed no mercy when it came to following school regulations.

"Hey, Percy." She smiled and waved. "What's up?"

Percy straightened up seriously, adjusting the 'P' badge on his chest. "Do we still have our meeting tonight?" he asked in a business-like tone.

Before Cara could reply, Fred gasped and put a hand on Percy's shoulder. The Sixth Year raised a brow at him. "Perce, do you have a _date_ tonight?" he squealed excitedly.

"What?!" Percy exclaimed. His face was quickly turning the color of his hair, and all manners of professionalism were out the window as he spluttered, "Of course not! It's a Prefects' meeting!"

"Then why're you turning so red?" snickered George.

"Because you two are turning nothing into something!" He shrugged off Fred's hand indignantly. "Coming from you two, though, it doesn't surprise me," he added coldly.

"Whoa, no need to get so defensive." Fred raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "I was just making sure McDouglas was still off the market." He turned towards her, and she arched an eyebrow high. "We've got something special, love, you and I." He winked. "All those late nights we'd spent together…I knew you couldn't possibly leave me for my own brother!"

Percy's expression became blank. "Late…nights?" His voice came out strained. George snickered into his drink, but Percy was too dumbfound to notice.

"Oh, she hasn't told you?" Fred asked innocently. His eyes, though, were far from innocent – they leapt with humor and mischief. "McDouglas and I have spent many long nights together, into the wee hours of the night…" He sighed dreamily. "Good times, am I right, love?"

"Oh, yeah," Cara agreed, as if just remembering. Percy now turned to her with nothing but shock and horror on his face, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. "All those long nights we spent in detention. They were romantic, weren't they?" Her lips twitched, appearing to be holding back a laugh or a grin.

The look of pure relief on Percy's expression amused his brothers greatly, though they didn't act it. Instead, Fred sighed dreamily again and said, "So romantic. Especially that time you made me write lines. It was good practice for me to start writing you love poems."

She actually laughed this time, sending poor little Percy's heart a-flutter. His brothers – along with the rest of the school – were well aware of the fact that he was smitten with the Ravenclaw. (As if his reaction to Fred's jokes just now wasn't proof enough.) She was, after all, impeccably similar to him. Except she had a better sense of humor yet could be even worse than Percy in many different ways (mainly by being a bitch).

"I guess you must still be practicing," she joked. "'Cause I haven't received a single one yet."

"I'm still perfecting 'em, love." Fred winked. "They've got to be just perfect. We all know how high your standards are." It was a slight bashing on her part, and she recognized it. She smirked slightly at the challenge.

"And it's because of those high standards," she quipped, "that you and I will never get together. Sorry to break it to you, _love_."

Fred gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest. "No! Don't say such things!"

George patted him sympathetically on the shoulder. "It'll be 'lright, Freddie. There are plenty of fish in the sea."

"And this one's swimming away." Cara's grey eyes sparkled with amusement as she made to leave. Percy, however, did not seem all too pleased. He had had more to say, but his bloody brothers had to (as usual) steal the show.

"Wait, Cara–"

"Sorry, Percy, but I really gotta eat dinner." She smiled apologetically. "My friends are waiting for me. We'll talk later at the meeting tonight, okay?"

"…Alright," Percy resigned with a barely audible sigh, clearly disappointed as he sunk further into this seat. Fred and George shared glances of sympathy – it was a shame their brother couldn't be bold and just ask the girl out already. He'd only been pining after her since his First Year!

Cara appeared (or at least acted) oblivious to Percy's reaction and continued towards the Ravenclaw table. It was along the way that she caught Oliver's eye. All the humor died from her eyes and her expression became stoic. Quickly she glanced away as if she hadn't noticed him. (Though he did catch her peeking curiously at the floating food.) She sped by him without so much as a second glance.

Oliver became thoughtful, leaning back in his chair. He didn't think he quite deserved the cold shoulder – it wasn't like he'd done anything to her. Though he supposed he could understand her attitude towards him. She clearly did not like the fact that he now knew about her and Lockhart, and seemed like she wanted to forget about it altogether. She might've even been scared that he would use the knowledge against her. Especially with their history.

Oliver scowled at the thought. For Merlin's sake, he wasn't that evil of a person! As much as he disliked McDouglas, he would never use his knowledge of her secret against her! A part of him pitied her, in fact, while another part was irritated. Pity with her situation, irritation with how she acted (or, in this case, her lack of action) with regards to it. But he supposed his sense of pity was stronger than his annoyance. Nobody deserved to be harassed (no matter what she wanted to call it, it was harassment), let alone by a Professor, somebody she was supposed to feel protected by. And of course she had to be all self-righteous and act like she could handle the situation herself. Not even when she was being harassed could McDouglas lower her ego enough to ask for help.

"…Oliver?"

He jumped a little, shaking himself from his thoughts. Collin was peering tentatively at him.

"Sorry, lad," he smiled. "What'd you say?"

"I was asking about the Wronski Feint," he replied, playing with his fingers unsurely. "You were telling me about it earlier but didn't finish explaining."

"Oh, aye." He rubbed his chin, feeling the prickly hairs on it. He needed to shave soon. "As I was saying, the Wronski Feint is used to trick the opposing Seeker. It's a dangerous move – so only skilled and experienced players can do it – where the Seeker pretends to see the Snitch and makes a dive towards the ground, only to pull back at the last second so the other Seeker will follow and crash."

Collin winced. "That sounds painful."

"I bet it is," Oliver agreed. "Like I said, since it's a dangerous move – you yourself could crash – it's not used often. But it's one of my favorite moves for Seekers – I have a preference towards the bolder, unexpected moves, y'see."

That was when a thought both reckless and brilliant hit Oliver. He stood so abruptly that Collin jumped in surprise. He quickly excused himself. Collin stared after him, pondering if the Captain was going to try to convince Harry to use the maneuver.

But Oliver wasn't heading towards the Second Year on the other end of the table. He was heading towards another table altogether, a table filled with students dressed in blue and bronze. A few sore thumbs stuck out here and there, and it was towards one of those clusters he headed. In fact, he was heading towards the sole green and silver robed student at the table. Said student was the first to notice him, and she raised her elegant eyebrows high when she saw him approach.

McDouglas was part of an interesting trio of friends. Oliver had never quite understood how the three of them had ever become and remained friends, given their differences. There was McDouglas, of course, pale and freckled, self-righteous rule-stickler. Then there was Robert (or Robbie, as everyone called him) Hilliard, Hufflepuff and Headboy. A portly lad with large square glasses and a head of messy brown hair, he was kind-hearted and good-humored. As a matter of a fact, he was a little too easygoing; he was a bit of a push-over. Fred and George had escaped a number of detentions from him. Finally, there was Dreyfus (Drey) LaRouche, Slytherin and pureblood. Even with the midnight blue highlights in her ebony black hair (which was pulled back in a high ponytail today to reveal her prominent forehead) and the multiple piercings in her ears and on her nose, she still managed to appear regal and aristocratic, a look only somebody with her bloodline could pull off. All the Slytherins despised her because she was friends with Muggleborns and half-bloods and the rest of the "impure" wizarding community.

He came to a halt before them. He was facing LaRouche and Hilliard, while McDouglas's back was turned to him. She seemed to notice something was off when her friends were staring behind her with eyes as wide as saucers. There was a hint of curiosity and scheming in Drey's eyes, while Robbie seemed downright confused. She turned, half-expecting a dragon to be standing behind her, but was met with a creature even worse: Oliver Wood.

"Evenin', McDouglas," he greeted pleasantly enough.

"…Evening," she replied coolly. She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. "What d'you want, Wood?" she put bluntly, her tone anything but friendly.

"I just want to have a word with you," he replied, his expression revealing nothing. "In private," he added, staring blatantly at her two friends.

The corner of LaRouche's lips curled in amusement. He felt like she was a snake coiled and ready to spring upon him at any moment. Robbie, on the other hand, only crinkled his brows and frowned. The pair of them were obviously aware of the long-standing feud between Oliver and McDouglas, which was why Robbie was clearly confused. LaRouche, being the sly Slytherin she was, must've known there was a reason to Oliver's arrival.

McDouglas sighed and rose to her feet. "Can't a woman eat her dinner in peace anymore?" she grumbled grouchily. "This better be quick, Wood." If her eyes hadn't given her away, Oliver would've believed she was genuinely irritated with him and had no clue about what he wanted to discuss with her.

He smiled innocently, acting along. "Trust me," he chuckled, "you'll want to hear what I have to say."

She didn't seem so certain.

* * *

 _Hi all, I hope you enjoyed Chapter 2! I know it wasn't particularly exciting, but it lays important groundwork for later chapters. And yes, it took me two months to update this story - I did warn you guys that I am pretty bad at updating, didn't I? I'll be going to Universal Studio next week to see the Wizarding World of Harry Potter (for the first time...I'm so excited!) so maybe when I get back I'll have a strong urge to write/update the story. Otherwise, I will try to update within the next month or two.  
_

 _Thank you to everyone who has followed and favorited my story! Please also take the time to review - I'd love to receive some feedback from you so I can improve my writing! Thank you!_


	3. A Matter of Pride

"I think it's brilliant."

"And I think you've gone mad."

Cara's face was stoic. Drey sighed impatiently and shifted on the sofa. Robbie was silent, his brows knotted in thought. The three of them were sitting around the Prefects' Lounge. Cara had just finished explaining her strange encounter with Wood earlier that day after he'd dragged her out the Great Hall.

 _"Come to blackmail me, have you?" she accused. She folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes at him.  
_

 _Wood glared at her. "That's not how you greet someone who has an idea that can help your sorry, ungrateful arse."_

 _Her lips drew into a tight line at his choice of words, but curiosity sparked in her eyes. She hesitated. "What d'you mean?"_

 _His lips twitched slightly, as if he was amused by her reluctance. He leaned his well-built frame against the door, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I think I know how to get Lockhart off your back."_

She'd been half-hopeful, half-annoyed. Annoyed that he was still sticking his nose where it didn't belong, hopeful his plan would actually work. Thinking back now, though, she realized what a fool she'd been. Why in Merlin's name would _Wood_ have come up with a decent idea? Instead he'd come up with the most awful and ludicrous idea she'd ever heard of: they would pretend to be dating. The idea was that once Lockhart saw that she was in a relationship with another person, he would leave her alone. She'd first been so shocked by this awful proposition that she'd simply gaped at Wood, speechless.

 _"Good idea, right?" He grinned cockily, under the impression that she was speechless because she was amazed by his idea, not horrified by it. "We're basically playing the Wronski Feint on Lockhart – tricking him to believe something is true when it really isn't."_

She hadn't had the faintest idea what this 'Wronski Feint' was that he'd referred to (though she'd been certain it had had something to do with Quidditch _–_ everything that came out of Wood's mouth was related to the sport). Instead of questioning the reference, she'd blown up on him, tearing his awful idea to shreds. He'd first been surprised by her reaction, but then he had become defensive and had argued back heatedly, his accent growing thicker in relation to his rising anger. Back and forth they'd went until Cara could take it no longer.

 _"I don't need your help, Wood." Her tone was final and decisive. Her glare was icy. To her surprise, all the anger seemed to dissipate from him; his shoulders slumped in resignation and he sighed. His eyes softened._

 _"Nay, lass, you don't_ want _my help." He smiled crookedly. "But you sure as hell need it."_

She hadn't mentioned that last bit to Drey and Robbie (because she was pretty sure they would've agreed with Wood) but had summarized everything else. She'd been expecting to receive their uproarious agreement that Wood had truly lost it. Apparently it was Drey who'd lost it, though. Why else would she insist that Wood had come up with a brilliant offer Cara ought to take up?

"Come off it, Car," sighed Drey. "You're too blinded by your hatred of Wood to see the sheer brilliance of his idea."

Cara scoffed. "I am not! His idea is as brilliant as Trelawney." Robbie snickered, and when Drey shot him a look he pretended to cough. "There are so many things wrong this 'brilliant idea' I'm not really sure how either of you think it's even plausible." She turned to their Hufflepuff friend, who had stayed too quiet throughout the conversation for her liking. "You agree, don'tcha, Robbie?" She looked at him hopefully.

He cleared his throat and glanced between the two. Clearly he didn't want to get in between their disagreement. "I want to first hear _why_ you think Wood's idea is so awful."

It was like Robbie to play the mediator and act neutral, but it made Cara think that he may have actually been in silent agreement with Drey. It annoyed her to think that she was supposedly the unreasonable one – you can't reason with an idea that will never work!

"First and foremost," she began, raising her index finger, "Wood and I have hated each other for the past six years. Everyone in this whole school is well-aware of this fact. Obviously the students will gossip. Don't you think they'll wonder how in the hell Wood and I got together? It's completely unrealistic that he and I would go out on a single date, let alone be boyfriend-girlfriend." She wrinkled her nose, as if the mere thought of it made her sick.

Drey waved off her concern like it was nothing more than a gnat. "People change. You can just make up some sappy story of how you got together – how all those years of arguing were really just to hide your true feelings for each other." She grimaced. "You and I hate that cheesy shite, but everyone else will gobble it up."

Cara gritted her teeth. "That's bloody pathetic."

"No." Drey waggled a finger at her and winked. "It's _romantic_." Robbie snickered at Cara's expression of exasperation mingled with a hint of horror. She'd never been one for romance or 'that Romeo and Juliet shite' as she called it. "Besides, I think it actually works perfectly that you and Wood don't get along. This way, you both know that this is nothing more than a ruse to get Lockhart to sod off; you don't have to worry that you'll actually end up developing feelings for each other. Not that I'm sure you're capable of that," she added.

Cara frowned, ignoring her friend's playful quip. "But if I actually were to go through with this whole 'pretending' game – which I'm against regardless of who I'm 'paired' with – it'd make more sense for me to pretend to be with someone who I already have an amicable relationship with. Robbie, for instance, would make a lot more sense."

"If he didn't gush about Evelyn all the time, maybe," teased Drey, smiling when Robbie blushed and chuckled. Evelyn was his Muggle girlfriend back home. He talked about her all the time – the whole school probably knew about her (poor Evelyn would've been embarrassed senseless if she found out how well-known she was around these parts, the shy little thing she was).

"True, but you get my point, don'tcha?" Cara insisted.

Drey shrugged. "Not really. We're just trying to trick Lockhart, not the whole school."

Cara sighed impatiently. "But for it to be realistic, it has to be…well…realistic!" She threw up her hands in exasperation. "People will talk," she continued when Drey opened her mouth to answer, "and Lockhart will hear." She raised her eyebrows, certain she'd won the argument. Drey, however, was not going to let up. She sighed in frustration.

"You're overthinking this, Car, like you do with everything!" Cara scowled. "Wood is the perfect candidate. For one thing, you won't end up actually falling for him." She held up her hand and ticked off a finger. "Two" _–_ She ticked off another _–_ "He's already aware of this whole Lockhart dilemma." She lowered a third finger. "Three, he's willing to help." Cara opened her mouth but closed it when Drey raised her pierced yet still aristocratic brows. "Put aside your pride for a second and think about it."

But Cara would not put aside her pride so readily. She all but ignored Drey's request and persisted, "I _have_ thought about it. I don't need his help, or anyone else's for that matter. I can figure this out myself." She sniffed and raised her chin.

"No you can't." Both girls turned to Robbie in surprise. He was smiling gently. "You can't do this all by yourself, Cara. I know you like to _think_ you can, but Lockhart's not a one-man job – oh, wait." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That came out wrong." Cara rolled her eyes and Drey snickered. "What I mean to say is: it's okay to get help. Sometimes you need it." His expression softened. "Lockhart is a serious problem, and he's not going away anytime soon. You can't keep ignoring this problem. It'll only get worse."

Cara didn't know whether to be annoyed by Robbie or touched by his concern. There was nothing demeaning or condescending about what he'd said – only genuine concern filled his eyes and voice. He was speaking to her like a loving mother would her child. Then she heard a familiar Scottish voice nag in her head, _"Nay, lass, you don't_ want _my help. But you sure as hell need it."_

Cara McDouglas wasn't the type of person to ask for help. She had always prided herself on being able to pull herself up by her bootstraps and accomplish things on her own through hard work and determination. She'd earned her Prefect and Headgirl badges, she'd earned the O's on her O.W.L.s. She always figured things out on her own – she never asked for help. As she'd told Wood the other night, she was no damsel in distress.

The more she thought about it, though, just how _was_ she planning on figuring out this Lockhart situation on her own? She'd already thought of all the options, and none of them had appealed to her. Was Wood's idea really not as outrageous as she'd first thought? Was it actually not mad but…brilliant?

The door to the Lounge swung open, interrupting her thoughts. Cedric Diggory walked in and raised his eyebrows in surprise when he saw Drey.

"Whatever happened to 'the Prefects' Lounge is strictly for Prefects only'?" he questioned, arching a brow at the Headgirl, using her own words against her. Robbie chuckled uncomfortably and Cara shrugged unapologetically. The rules always tended to get hazy when Drey was around.

"I'm a Prefect now, didn't you know, Diggory?" joked Drey, her lips set in a cat-like smirk. "I'm replacing you."

"A Slytherin Prefect replacing a Hufflepuff one?" Diggory scratched his head, pretending to think. "That's something I thought I'd never hear." He grinned playfully.

"And something you'll never hear again," laughed Robbie. "All jokes aside, you should probably should get going, Drey." He smiled apologetically at the Slytherin. "We have our meeting soon."

Drey pouted and slunk off the sofa. "Right when all the fun's about to start?"

"It won't be a party without you," joked Cara. Her grey eyes danced playfully. "And for that we'll be grateful."

"That's only 'cause you Prefects don't know how to party," huffed Drey. "Except for the Slytherin ones, maybe," she added as an afterthought, smirking slightly.

"Guess we need to keep a closer eye on those Slytherin Prefects, eh, Robbie?" Cara said, elbowing her friend in the side.

"Yeah, I guess so. Thanks for the tip, Drey _–_ those Slytherins will be so happy when they find out you've thrown them under the Knight Bus!"

Drey rolled her eyes. "They can't hate me any more than they already do." She shrugged nonchalantly and waved them goodbye, closing the door to the Lounge behind herself.

Robbie sighed and shook his head. "Sorry about that, Cedric. We couldn't find anywhere to talk in private."

Diggory waved him off. "It's alright, I was just teasing. It'll be our little secret." He winked. Had Cara been a younger female student (a 'groupie' to be specific) she may have squealed at the sight. As he grew older and taller, Diggory was also growing increasingly handsome and popular. Cara had never been particularly attracted to the lad. She could only ever think of him as the lost little Hufflepuff boy she'd directed to his Potions classroom on the first day of classes (and had later reassured that Snape was an arse to everyone, not just him). She couldn't deny that he was maturing finely, however, and was no longer that lost eleven-year-old boy but a quickly maturing fourteen or fifteen-year-old. He was becoming quite the looker. "I've actually been hoping to get a chance with you two alone." He scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. "It's – erm…" He coughed and shuffled his feet awkwardly. "It's about the Prefects' bathroom again…"

"Oh, bloody hell!" groaned Cara, slapping a hand to her face. "It's not Myrtle again, is it?"

She took his sheepish silence to mean yes.

"Sorry you have to put up with that," she sighed, running her fingers through her hair irritably. "I'll talk to her again, but if I don't seem to get through to her I'll follow up with Flitwick too." She paused and pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I wonder if any other Prefects have been having this issue too?"

"This issue of _blatant harassment_?" Robbie said slowly and deliberately. "I haven't heard anything from the other Prefects. But at least you've come forth and have _asked for help_ on this issue of _sexual harassment_ , Cedric." Robbie shot Cara a meaningful look, and she glared at him. As if he wasn't clearly making a reference to her current dilemma.

"Erm…you're welcome?" Diggory replied unsurely. He glanced at Cara for support, but she quickly pulled a confused smile and shrugged. To her relief, other Prefects began to file into the Lounge. She only hoped Robbie wouldn't keep speaking like an obnoxious twat. Otherwise it was going to be a very long meeting.

* * *

Cara wasn't sure when she'd last patrolled the halls with Percy. After their Prefects meeting a few nights ago, new schedules had been assigned. She and Robbie had come up with a new system so that each patrol was done in pairs, and each Prefect in that pair was of a different House. The shifts were done in pairs for safety concerns (Dumbledore had explicitly stated that no Prefect could patrol alone). As for making sure each pair consisted of two Prefects from different Houses, it was to encourage intermingling and dialogue. (It was also because Cara and Robbie had received some complaints from the other Prefects that the Slytherin Prefects had been neglecting their duties. This was also a method to keep an eye on them.)

Because it'd been a while since she'd spent one-on-one time with Percy, she'd almost forgotten how tiring he could be. There was no such thing as having laid back conversations with Percy. He always had new ideas to share with her, whether it was about implementing a new system for the Prefects or new ways to deal with students who broke the rules. He also loved telling her about his ambitions and dreams – he liked to talk about himself, really. But Cara got the distinct feeling the reason he bragged the way he did was an attempt to impress her. Yes, she was well-aware that the lad had had a crush on her for many years now. Drey called her a tease for "leading him on" (though she certainly did not!) and even Robbie agreed somewhat, telling her to "break it to him easy." But Cara handled the knowledge of Percy's crush by acting as he didn't have one on her. After all, he'd never asked her out. The closest thing to dates they've had were their patrols. The most romantic thing he'd ever said to her was whether or not she thought they should change the color of the toilet paper in the dorms to reflect House colors (an idea she'd been highly against). She didn't think it was wise of her to blatantly reject the lad when there wasn't even anything to reject! It only made her seem egotistic. Besides, she didn't really see a problem with the way things were. Things were civil. It was if either of them _did_ acknowledge his feelings for her that the problems would arise.

Although the Weasleys all looked remarkably similar to one other, they differed greatly in personality. She'd gone to school with each and every one of them now, and she'd say her favorite by far was Charlie. Bill had been too much of a rebel (though he had easily been the most attractive of the siblings), Percy too high-strung, Fred and George were a right pain in her arse, and the youngest two, Ron and Ginny, she didn't know well enough to have much of an opinion on either of them. (Ron, however, seemed to be veering towards the path of his twin brothers in terms of disregarding school rules. He and Harry Potter had been the talk of the school when they'd flown to Hogwarts _in a bloody car_ and crashed it into the Whomping Willow. Unbelievable!) She'd liked Charlie the most because he'd been laid back but also respectful and nice. (It was also a plus that he'd been a Prefect.)

For once, Percy wasn't talking about himself or his Prefect duties. Instead, he was recalling the Quidditch game from earlier that day. Gryffindor and Slytherin had played the first game of the school year, and it had ended rather horrifyingly. (Though she imagined Wood must've been ecstatic to have won his first game, regardless of what it had cost his players.) Cara, of course, hadn't gone (Middle Earth was far more fascinating than Quidditch) but she'd heard all about what had happened. Poor Potter. Trouble seemed to follow the Boy Who Lived wherever he went. That afternoon on the Quidditch pitch he hadn't been attacked by a troll like last Halloween, but had instead been attacked by an out-of-control Bludger (which, from the sounds of it, had been bewitched). The Bludger had broken his arm and Lockhart, apparently under the impression that he was a Healer, had rushed to the Second Year's aid. Potter's arm wasn't broken after Lockhart had tended to it, but he didn't have any bones left in it either. Healing bones was already a touchy business, and when you had someone as incompetent as Lockhart attempt to mend bones it was no surprise Potter had to walk around with a rubber arm. Hopefully Madam Pomfrey could fix up the poor lad's arm – if there was anyone who was up to the task, it was their trusted Hogwarts Healer.

"Did they ever find out what was wrong with the Bludger?" Cara asked once Percy had finished recounting the tale. "It sounds like it was bewitched."

Percy frowned. "Not that I know of. But I agree – it definitely wasn't by chance that it kept attacking Harry. I wonder who bewitched it…" He trailed off and scratched his freckled nose thoughtfully.

"Probably a Slytherin player," sighed Cara, shaking her head. "I bet it was Flint." She grimaced at the thought of Marcus Flint's sneering face. She wouldn't have put it past him to play such a nasty trick. But then again, was he capable of such magic? As good as he may have been at hexes, she doubted he was good enough to bewitch a Bludger.

Percy's face darkened. "Do you really think so? We should request an investigation."

An investigation sounded a little extreme. Now, an attack on a student was certainly not something to be taken lightly. But there was no promise that the Bludger really had been bewitched – it may have just been acting up because it was old or malfunctioned and needed to be replaced. She doubted any of the Professors had the time nor the desire to undergo such an investigation. "I understand your concern, Percy, but don't you think that's a little over-the-top?"

Percy raised his eyebrows in surprise. Then he furrowed them and frowned. "No, I don't think so. After all, if it _had_ been Flint who'd bewitched the Bludger, that's not only cheating but assault on another student," he pointed out matter-of-factedly. "He needs to receive appropriate punishment."

Cara didn't reply. Her attention was caught by a figure – he appeared to be a young student – lying very still on the ground on the other end of the hallway. Percy followed her line of sight and frowned deeply.

"Excuse me!" he called out in his 'Prefect' voice (a combination of condescension and authority). "What do you think you're doing out at so late an hour?"

Unsurprisingly, there was no response. Cara resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "He seems to be under the Full Body-Bind," she pointed out slowly, feeling a little surprised that Percy hadn't seemed to figure it out. "Some older students must've pranked or bullied him." Her eyebrows furrowed at the thought. "C'mon, let's go help him out."

Percy glanced suspiciously around the hallway, searching for the perpetrators, and the duo strode swiftly toward the student. He was a small lad wearing a Gryffindor scarf. His face was blocked from view because he had been paralyzed in place while holding a camera over his face. Cara assumed he must've been taking pictures of students who hadn't taken kindly to the photo shoot and had paralyzed him out of anger.

"You know this student?" she questioned Percy, glancing up at him. He nodded.

"That's Colin Creevey. He's always carrying that camera around with him." Cara thought she saw a hint of pity in Percy's eyes. Perhaps the student got bullied often.

"Well, Creevey," she murmured soothingly to the motionless student, "Let's hear the story of what happened to you, hmm?" She pointed her wand at him and murmured, " _Finite Incantatem_."

Nothing happened.

Cara furrowed her brows in confusion. She wasn't sure when she'd last used the spell to revive a paralyzed student, but she didn't remember ever having trouble before. She tried it again, this time moving her wand with a flourish, but to no avail.

"That's odd…" she murmured, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. " _Rennervate._ "

There was still no movement from Creevey. She glanced over her shoulder at Percy helplessly.

"Maybe there's something wrong with your wand?" he offered. "Here, let me try."

Cara was too anxious to argue that there couldn't possibly be anything wrong with her wand; she hadn't had any trouble with it all day. She moved aside and watched Percy repeat the same spells she'd used. Again, nothing happened. Colin Creevey remained motionless on the ground.

"I…I don't understand," Percy mumbled, sounding worried and a little scared. Cara was just as worried and confused as he was. She didn't understand why either of them were having difficulties reviving Creevey. Had it not been a Petrificus Totalus that had been used on him? But if it hadn't been that curse, what could it have been?

Realization suddenly hit Cara. She felt as if she had been dumped in cold water; she felt chilled to the bone. The gears in her mind stopped churning, and for a moment time stopped as horror filled her whole.

Then time started again and her Headgirl instincts kicked in. Quickly she knelt by Creevey's side, touching his hand. It was ice cold. She turned sharply to Percy, who appeared bewildered by her expression and sudden change in demeanor.

"This is Dark Magic," she hissed lowly. "The very same Dark Magic that Petrified Mrs. Norris." She glanced at the walls behind her, wondering if they were in the same hallway where the writing had been on the wall. Her grip tightened on her wand. Whatever had attacked Mrs. Norris and Creevey could still be lurking around.

All the color drained from Percy's face.

"Go and get Professor Dumbledore!" she said urgently. "Hurry!"

"B-but Cara," gasped Percy. "Wh-what if whatever Petrified Collin comes back?!"

She hesitated and glanced down unsurely at Creevey. She didn't want to leave him behind, but Percy was right – she definitely couldn't stay here alone with him. Though she was quite confident in her magical abilities, she knew that she wasn't capable of handling whatever monstrosity had done this to the poor First Year. Having made up her mind, she stood quickly and illuminated the tip of her wand with a wordless incantation. Percy followed suit.

"C'mon," she murmured in a near-whisper. She gripped his arm with one hand and flourished her wand with the other. Creevey rose from the ground and hovered a foot in the air. He looked like a dead body rising from the grave. The thought made Cara feel queasy, and Creevey wobbled slightly in the air when she lost some of her focus.

"Are you alright, Cara?" Percy asked quietly, his voice filled with concern. He placed his hand reassuringly over hers, which was still gripped onto his arm.

"It's not me you should be worried about," she replied grimly. Percy's eyes flickered to the First Year. "C'mon, let's go to the Hospital Wing first – Dumbledore can wait. I'll direct Creevey and you stay on the lookout."

Percy nodded and raised his wand defensively. The eyes behind his horn-rimmed glasses narrowed as they swept around the area. "I've got your back."

She managed to offer him a tight smile. "Thanks, Percy." She squeezed the arm she held. "I know I can count on you."

"You can always count on me, Cara," he murmured, his voice lowering. His eyes flickered to hers, and she saw the emotion in them. He usually managed to hide or tone down his feelings for her, but now she saw them, raw and deep in his hazel eyes. She resisted the urge to glance away uncomfortably. "I'll always be here for you when you need me."

Her smile grew tighter and she gently released her grip on him. She understood he was trying to play the whole 'hero' thing (she swore those damn Gryffindors always had to play the hero!) and be all manly, but now _really_ wasn't the right time for this.

"It's not me who needs you right now," she said, "but Creevey." She looked up at the Petrified Gryffindor, and her heart sunk at the sight. "Don't worry, mate. We'll get you fixed up."

* * *

Dumbledore looked tired. Cara had rarely ever seen him look as tired as he did now – he was usually radiating with a calm authority, humor twinkling in his vivid blue eyes. But none of that Dumbledore sat before her; instead, an older, more ancient and withered Dumbledore gazed at her, his eyes sad and troubled.

"You have to tell me what's going on, Professor."

Although she spoke in a level and respectful tone, rarely had she spoken so directly to the Headmaster. In fact, she had just _demanded_ him to tell her what was happening. But she was past formalities. Dumbledore had kept her in the dark for too long.

It had been two nights since she and Percy had found Colin Creevey's Petrified body, and the students had been living in fear ever since. If they'd been scared after reading the message on the wall and seeing Mrs. Norris, it was nothing like the fear that penetrated the school now. Rumors were beginning to grow out of control. They whispered that Potter was the Heir of Slytherin. They laughed that the Mudbloods would soon get what was coming to them. Students roamed the halls in packs of three or four, and there were none out past curfew.

And Dumbledore had done nothing to address their fears.

Cara was frustrated with him. She'd always been in awe of him and had the utmost respect for him. He was a wizard of great skill and authority, yet one who was calm and gentle and cared deeply for his students. But now...now she saw him for what he truly was. A leader who could provide no direction for his students. A Headmaster who did not publicly reprimand the Slytherins for their hateful slurs or the Hufflepuffs for their accusations against Potter. She did not see him as the wise head of the school as she once had, but as an old man who was out of touch with his students and reality. It seemed that in times of crisis Dumbledore did not rise to the occasion. Instead he hid away in his grand and elaborate room. It was now that she saw his true colors.

"I would if I could, Miss. McDouglas."

Her nostrils flared in frustration. She'd never minded much the way Dumbledore spoke in riddles – she dealt with riddles on a daily basis to get into her Common Room, after all – but she was not in the mood for his enigmatic shite at the moment. "Do you mean to tell me that you've no idea what's going on, sir?"

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, propping his elbows on the arms of his chair. He drew his fingers together and scrutinized her from behind his half moon glasses. His eyes were no longer tired; they pierced hers, awake and alert. "I have an idea of what's happening, but I do not feel comfortable divulging such information to you."

"You don't trust me?" She was surprised by how hurt she felt. He may as well have slapped her across the face. For seven years she'd been under his wing. Having been a Prefect and now a Headgirl, she was certain she'd had more interaction with the Headmaster than many other students. But she saw now that the relationship she had with him was not nearly as special as she'd thought it to be. How very disillusioned she'd been.

Dumbledore sat up straight, brows crinkling. "Of course I trust you, my dear. Why else would I have given you that badge?" He pointed at the Headgirl badge pinned on the front of her robes. "I know you are a very capable young woman with a keen sense of judgement. It is because of my trust in you that I thought you would be the right choice for overseeing the students."

"Then why can't you tell me what's going on?" she asked in frustration. She clenched her jaw, trying to control her temper.

"Because this isn't a matter of trust, it's a matter of safety and concern." His reply was simple. "And even I do not have all the information I need to solve the issue we face."

Cara grew quiet. Even Dumbledore didn't know the whole story. It wasn't very reassuring. If Dumbledore couldn't stop the attacks, then who the hell could?

"...The students are talking, Professor," she murmured quietly, avoiding his gaze. Instead she stared at the Phoenix perched behind his desk. The last time she'd seen it, it had been large and majestic, but now it only appeared a few weeks old. So young and fragile. "They say these attacks are aimed at Muggleborns. That they're trying to...eradicate us." She closed her eyes briefly, pained to speak such horrors. And what she'd said was putting it nicely. The actual things the students said...she could never repeat them to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "This I cannot deny."

Cara's eyes snapped to him, wide in horror.

"There is an evil lurking in our corridors, Miss. McDouglas, an evil that wishes to 'purify' our halls." He fixed his gaze on hers, strong and firm. "But I promise you, I shall do everything in power to keep everyone – Muggleborns, half-bloods, pure-bloods – safe." His eyes searched hers imploringly. "And to do this, I need your help."

"I _have_ been helping you, Professor," was her snappish reply. "But there's only so much I can do as Headgirl. The students...they need your guidance, sir." Her tone grew calmer. "They... _We_ all feel confused, lost, and scared. We don't know what the Chamber of Secrets is, we don't know who or what is causing these attacks, and we Muggleborns especially keep thinking that we'll be the next to be Petrified." She held her breath. "We're scared."

Dumbledore's expression softened. He leaned over the table and extended his hand toward her. Hesitantly she placed her hand in his. His touch was soft, but the skin was weathered and lined from years of wandwork. He placed his other hand over hers so that her hand was sandwiched between his. All the while his gaze never hers. She saw the old Dumbledore then, the one she'd admired and looked up to.

"As am I, Cara." His smile was sad. "As am I."

* * *

 _Hello everyone! I hope you've been doing well! :) This chapter, as you read, was focused on what was going on in the 2nd book that this story takes place in. I am not going to completely ignore the plot/context they're in. I am gonna try to keep this story on the lighthearted side but will also be including the darker stuff that goes on in the book. I realized I haven't written a lighthearted romance like this in 2 years or so...as of late I work on darker stories with more serious undertones. So I'm a little rusty when it comes to teen romance stories like this one! (I actually have to keep reminding myself that they're only teenagers!)  
_

 _What'd you guys think of the interaction between Dumbledore and Cara? I'm rather pleased with the way I wrote it, because I do think that it's a problem how ignorant/unaware the Professors are of all the rumors that the students make and how scared they all must be. You can't just pretend everything's all fine and dandy when it really isn't. I also wanted to show some of Dumbledore's imperfections. As we know, he's not as perfect and fantastic as young Harry believed him to be._

 _Up until now the story has equally been from both Cara and Wood's perspectives. The rest of this story will be mostly from Cara's perspectives, with Wood's thrown in here and there._

 _Feedback is always appreciated! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favorited this story thus far! Let's keep it up!_

 _P.S. Does anyone have any ideas for what a good cover image for this story would be? Or are there any artistically talented people out there who may be interested in making one for me? I always have cover photos for my longer chapter stories but have no idea what to do for this story. PM me if you have any ideas! Thanks!_


	4. Operation Wronski Feint

The tension was high. The crowd was silent. His forehead was beaded with sweat and his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could do this. He could win this game.

"King to F8."

The black piece moved forward slowly on the chessboard. Oliver glanced up to watch his opponent's reaction. Lee Jordan's eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, his eyes darting back and forth between the black and white chest pieces.

"Bold move," he mused quietly, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. Oliver puffed out his chest proudly. Then, slowly, a large grin began to split across Jordan's face. Oliver's heart dropped. "You might be an expert on the Quidditch field, Wood," Jordan said cheekily, his eyes dancing mischievously like they did whenever he pulled another of his pranks, "but you're a novice on the chessboard." His grin was triumphant as he proclaimed, "Checkmate."

Oliver groaned as the white Knight – which he'd completely forgotten about – smashed his King down. He burrowed his face in his hands and smacked his head against the table. All the while Jordan laughed maniacally. After wallowing in his self-pity for a few moments longer, Oliver straightened up and fixed Jordan with an accusing glare.

"I thought you said you weren't good at chess."

"I'm not." Jordan snickered. "You're just bloody terrible, that's all."

Oliver scowled deeply and harrumphed indignantly, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across broad chest. His scowl soon became a childish pout.

"Oh, don't be such a sore loser," teased Jordan. "Whatever happened to all that good sportsmanship shite you're always spouting?"

Oliver snorted. "That's just for saving face to McGonagall. You know as well as I do that all I care about is winning." He paused. "'Lright, I enjoy playing the game too, of course, but it's so much more fun when you win."

"You got that right," grinned Jordan cheekily, waving the black King piece at Oliver. The Sixth Year rolled his eyes. Before he could retort, however, a voice called out for him. He turned to see a very devious-looking Alicia waving at him.

"What's up?" he asked, not at all liking her expression. She had something up her sleeve – and when it came to Alicia, that only ever meant trouble.

"You won't believe who's asking for you out in the hall," she said conspiratorially, leaning against the table so that her ample chest practically spilled over it. Inadvertently Jordan's eyes flickered to her large bosom, and she smacked him upside the head.

"Oi!" he whined, grabbing a hold of his head. "What was that for?!"

"For staring at my breasts like a perv, you cheeky twat," she snapped, glaring at him.

"They were practically jiggling in my face!" was his defense, which only earned him another slap on the head. Oliver sighed in exasperation and pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"Enough with the flirting, you two." They both turned to him in surprise. Alicia gaped at him and Jordan grinned.

" _Flirting_?!" spluttered Alicia indignantly, her cheeks quickly turning the shade of the Weasleys' hair. "Since when does yelling at a perv for staring at my anatomy count as flirting?!"

"Since humans first evolved, I believe." Jordan stated this so matter-of-factedly and confidently you'd think he'd done research on the subject. Alicia rolled her eyes and said,

"But of course, men have only been sexualizing and oppressing women since the beginning of time!"

Oliver resisted the urge to slap a hand to his face. Alicia brought up a good and true point, but she was clearly taking what Jordan had said out of context. She was just being overdramatic. He glared accusingly at Jordan for causing them to go down this road. The lad shrugged sheepishly. Oliver sighed and said to Alicia, "You're twisting Jordan's words. You know he's only jokin' with you; he treats women with the utmost respect." He paused and corrected himself, "Well…maybe not. But y'know what I mean."

"Gee, thanks for having my back, mate."

"Anytime, lad."

They grinned at each other. Alicia shook her head and rolled her eyes. Boys. Their friendships were so strange and beyond her comprehension. "Anyways, I didn't come here to argue with Jordan." She turned to Oliver, ignoring Jordan's "aw, that hurts, love."

"You said there's somebody waiting for me out in the hall?" Oliver asked. Alicia nodded, and she was back to her devious self as a mischievous smirk spread across her full lips.

"I won't tell you who." She winked. "I want to keep it a surprise."

Oliver grimaced and rose from his seat. It was like Alicia to make a bigger deal of things than they really were. "Fine. I'll go see for myself, then." It was probably just a student from another House who needed help on his homework or needed Quidditch advice. Alicia's giggle and the twinkle in her eyes told him otherwise, however, and he grew curious as he headed towards the portrait hole. Who would have caused Alicia to get so excited like that?

His question was answered when he exited the Common Room. He saw blue and bronze, strawberry blonde hair and cold grey eyes. He froze. No wonder Alicia had been bubbling over in excitement. She would probably be eagerly waiting for him to return so she could gossip about the row between him and McDouglas that would inevitably occur.

"…Wood," McDouglas greeted coolly and evenly. She fixed a neutral gaze on him.

"…McDouglas."

It had been over a week since Oliver had last seen and spoken to her. He'd proposed the idea of tricking Lockhart into believing that he and McDouglas were in a relationship, and she hadn't taken kindly to the idea. In fact, she'd bashed it just as awfully as she bashed Quidditch, and the conversation had quickly spiraled into an argument. (Like they always did with her.) Oliver, furious at the way McDouglas had beaten down his idea, had thrown up his hands in defeat and had given up hope on her. He'd only meant to do the right thing by offering his help. It wasn't like he _wanted_ to be her pretend boyfriend. It was only because he was the one of the few – if not the only – person who knew about her predicament that he'd felt it had been his responsibility to offer his aid. But McDouglas, being as arrogant and self-righteous as she was, believed that she was capable of figuring out the Lockhart problem on her own. She didn't think she needed help. She thought she was too good for that – she didn't think she needed to rely on anyone other than herself, because she thought she was the expert on everything. She probably thought she only needed to be read up on a "How to Tell a Romantically Interested Professor to Sod Off: For Dummies" book to rid herself of Lockhart. Unfortunately, it wasn't so simple. McDouglas may have been book smart, but Oliver was street smart; he knew she couldn't find her answers in any books.

He realized that a long stretch of silence had fallen between them. McDouglas's eyes remained cool and collected, but her jaw was clenched and her posture was stiff. Oliver sighed and folded his arms across his chest.

"To what do I owe this surprise?"

Instead of stiffening further at his sarcastic comment, she actually relaxed, as if comforted by the tone. You knew their relationship was bloody terrible if she took his sarcastic tone to be a good sign.

"I was hoping we could talk. In private." Oliver had a sudden sense of déjà vu. McDouglas glanced pointedly at the portrait of the Fat Lady, who had not-so-discretely been eavesdropping on the conversation and was poking her head out from behind her frilly fan. She huffed indignantly and waved McDouglas away with her fan.

"I have better things to do than listen in to your dull conversation!"

"Like what?" McDouglas replied, her lips twitching as she held back a laugh. "Wait 'round for the next Gryffindor to drop by and say the password so you can let him in? Sounds exciting."

"Oh, go ahead, make jokes!" sneered the Fat Lady, her painted lips curling. "What I do is important work; it ensures the safety of my students!" She drew herself up regally and half-hid her face behind her fan. She narrowed her eyes, still peeking out from behind her fan, at McDouglas. "I'm a lot more useful than a Headgirl, that much I am certain."

Cara's cheeks flared indignantly so that her freckles became especially visible, practically popping out of her skin. "I'll have you know–"

"Ladies," Oliver interrupted loudly, raising his hands between them as a physical barrier. (Not that they actually could've gotten into a brawl.) Why did it seem like all he was doing today was breaking up fights? "There's no need to talk to each other like that."

"All _I_ did was ask for a moment of privacy," growled McDouglas, glaring at the Fat Lady. "And your portrait decided to be rude about it!"

" _I_ was being rude?!" cried the Fat Lady indignantly, placing a hand on her hip. " _You_ were the one who insulted my profession!"

" _Profession_?!" wheezed McDouglas, half-choking in disbelief.

"Erm…excuse me?"

Oliver had never been more grateful to see Neville Longbottom trudging up the stairs. The eyes on his pudgy face were large in fear and confusion, darting back and forth between McDouglas and the Fat Lady.

"I – um – I need to get into the Common Room…" He trailed off and shuffled his feet unsurely. "B-but I can come back another time!" he reassured, flinching when both females turned to him. McDouglas's expression instantly softened.

"No, lad, go on." She waved towards the Fat Lady encouragingly. "She's been waiting 'round all day for someone to come along and give her the password, since she's got nothing better to do." She winked at Neville and ignored the Fat Lady's indignant harrumph. He still seemed unsure but relaxed slightly at the warm smile McDouglas offered him. Oliver smiled despite himself. It always amused him to see how quickly and easily McDouglas went from malicious bitch to helpful Headgirl. (She had especially always had a soft spot for the younger students.)

"C'mon, Wood," she said, tugging Oliver down the stairs. He followed her without complaint, allowing her to lead them away from the Common Room. Neville watched them go before he turned to the Fat Lady.

"Poppy seed," he said confidently, his round face glowing. He still had that Ravenclaw's smiling face imprinted in his mind. She'd been so pretty and nice…if only more students were nice like her…

"That is the incorrect password."

Neville was shaken from his reverie, slipping off the blissful cloud he'd been floating on. "That can't be wrong!" he cried. "I used that password just yesterday!"

"The password has changed since then," the Fat Lady replied matter-of-factedly. "We have a new one now."

Neville's face scrunched up in worry and concentration. No matter how hard he thought back and tried to remember, the password would not come to him. He glanced over his shoulder to shout for Oliver to return, but he and the Ravenclaw were gone. Neville moaned and thumped his head against the wall. "Great job, Neville," he muttered to himself.

Oliver and McDouglas had steered themselves towards a secluded hallway, unaware of poor Neville's predicament. McDouglas, after glancing around to make sure that the two of them were alone, released her grip on Oliver and turned to fully face him. Oliver folded his arms across his chest defensively, preparing himself for the battle that was to come.

She took a deep breath and took a moment to gather her composure. She stood up straight and stared him square in the eye. "I want to apologize to you."

Oliver blinked at her. Then he blinked again. He put a finger in his ear, wondering if he'd heard correctly. Because Cara McDouglas never apologized, let alone to the likes of him.

When he didn't reply, she continued. "I'm sorry for tearing down your idea without truly considering it. All you did was offer what you thought was the best solution to my…predicament" – She grimaced – "and I acted like I knew better." She sighed and stuck her hands in her pockets. Oliver stared at her bug-eyed, wondering if this was all some sort of ruse to get a rise out of him. "I've done a lot of thinking over the past week, and I've come to the realization that your idea isn't mad. It's actually brilliant." She smiled sheepishly at him. "You were right, Wood. I don't want help, but I need it." She glanced away, looking almost ashamed of this admittance. She sighed again. "And there you were, laying it all out there and offering me help even when you don't have a personal stake in what's going on. You Gryffindors…" She chuckled and shook her head. Oliver couldn't tell if her tone was one of endearment or ridicule. "You always do what you feel is right, regardless of what the path entails, the uncertainty of the outcome…or how much you dislike the person you're offering help to." She smirked, looking more like the McDouglas he was familiar with.

Oliver couldn't believe what she was saying. He'd never thought he'd see the day Cara McDouglas would apologize, admit that she wasn't capable of doing everything herself, and possibly offer a compliment to the Gryffindor House. It was hard enough getting her to do just one of those things, let alone all three! He wondered if someone was playing a cruel prank on him, and glanced around the hall, expecting a pair of redheaded twins to pop out a dark corner.

"I'm asking for your help, Wood," she continued, watching his reaction carefully. "If the offer is still out there…would you still be up for playing the part?" There was something in her voice Oliver had never heard from her before: uncertainty. Doubt. A hint of worry. She was scared that he was going to say no. For a moment he considered doing that, just to relish the look of devastation on her face, but when she stared at him with wide, imploring eyes he found himself tongue-tied.

He cleared his throat and straightened up. He already knew his answer; he'd given it to her last week. But he still wanted to give her a bit of a hard time. Besides, he was curious. What could have possibly made her realize all this?

"What made you change your mind?"

She shrugged. "Perspective," she replied simply enough. It wasn't exactly the answer he'd been looking for, but it would do. He had a feeling that her friends may have had something to do with her decision, or perhaps Lockhart had gone too far. The second thought made his expression darken.

Realizing that she was waiting for his answer, he scratched his stubbly chin and pretended to think. (He also reminded himself that he needed to shave. He had to do it more and more often these days – it was kinda obnoxious. Funny how there were lads who tested out charms on their chins to grow out their beard hairs – and the charms usually only ended up giving them acne or boils – yet here he was wishing he didn't grow any.) "I dunno," he mused, resisting the urge to smirk. "Maybe if you asked me a little more romantically, I'd consider."

She rolled her eyes. Ah, there was the McDouglas he knew. Even when she was asking a favor of him she couldn't play nice. "This is about as romantic as it's gonna get, mate." She folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm not asking you to marry me. Sorry to disappoint," she added.

"I'm relieved, actually." She rolled her eyes again and he grinned. "Being your pretend boyfriend will be enough work and trouble as it is. I don't need you nagging me any more than you already will be."

She scowled at him. Her scowl vanished immediately, however, when she realized what he was implying. Her eyes lit up. "So you're saying you'll do it?" Her expression was hopeful.

He softened. How could he say no to a face like that? She seemed so genuinely eager and grateful, he didn't have the heart in him to tease her any further. "Of course, lass," he replied quietly. "Like you said, we Gryffindors do what's right. And you Ravenclaws do what's wise, don't you? Well, here we have it: a perfect blend of what's wise and what's right." He smiled at her, and she seemed pleasantly surprised by what he said, as if she hadn't known he was capable of such thinking. "I offered to help you, and I stand by what I said. I only ask that you promise me one thing in return."

She was instantly on the defense. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, instead of jumping up and down and saying "of course!" like most grateful girls would've. Her grey eyes were calculating him, gauging him. "It depends on the promise," she replied slowly. Ah, Ravenclaws. Wise indeed. They knew better than to make promises they couldn't keep. Especially McDouglas, ever the cautious one.

He winked at her. "Just don't end up falling for me."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, clearly not expecting the lighthearted jibe. She didn't seem to know whether she should laugh or scoff. Naturally, she decided to scoff. "The day I fall for you is the day I play Quidditch."

It was as solid a promise as an Unbreakable Vow. "Good." He stuck out a hand toward her. She shook it. "So it's settled, then." He smirked slightly. "Ready to be my girlfriend?"

She grimaced. "Guess I gotta get used to hearing that, huh?" She sighed and scrunched her nose. "Girlfriend…never thought I'd hear that coming from your lips." She shook her head and laughed. "I can't believe we're doing this."

"Me neither," he admitted. "But there aren't many other options, are there?"

"No," she agreed. "Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

"Not sure if I should be offended by that or not."

"I'm not sure either." She shrugged and he rolled his eyes. Her expression softened after a moment and she met his eye. "Thank you for doing this, Wood. I mean it. I really appreciate this."

He met her gaze steadily. He knew she meant what she said. There was nothing but honesty and genuine gratitude in her eyes. He smiled. "Don't worry about it, McDouglas. I'm just glad I could help out."

She smiled back at him. "Me too."

* * *

Oliver was already regretting his decision. He'd known going in that it wasn't going to be easy, but he hadn't realized just _how_ difficult it was going to be. He'd just thought that because everything was for pretend – just making it believable to Lockhart – that it wouldn't entail too much work. But he'd forgotten one very important and crucial detail: this was McDouglas he was talking about. She planned everything out to a T. Everything had to be perfect and up to her unrealistically high standards. And so it was that he'd found himself in what was essentially a training class about what it meant to act like a couple. He'd been incredulous at first and had refused to do something so stupid, but McDouglas wouldn't let him hear the end of it. He was just about ready to rip out his hair and call it quits.

"This is ridiculous!" he cried out, interrupting Robbie while he was in the middle of explaining some stupid shite he hadn't been listening to. It turned out that Robbie and LaRouche had also been in on the whole plan. (They'd dubbed the whole 'let's pretend to date so that Lockhart sods off' plan the Wronski Feint, as per Oliver's request. Robbie and LaRouche had thought it to be rather clever, but McDouglas could've cared less. They'd also come up with a code name for Lockhart: Branleur. It meant wanker in French.) Oliver hadn't been surprised. They were her closest friends; of course they knew what was happening between her and Lockhart.

Robbie frowned. "I really don't think it's asking too much of you to have you address each other by your first names."

Oliver waved him off. "That's not what I meant. I mean _this_." He gestured vaguely around the circle they were sitting in. They were all seated by the beech tree near the Great Lake. "I don't need to take classes on what it means to be a good boyfriend."

McDouglas arched an eyebrow high at him. "Really?" she said doubtfully. "You have enough trouble being a good person, so I find that hard to believe." Oliver glared at her.

"Oi, play nice!" reprimanded LaRouche, waggling a finger. "That's not how you should speak to your boyfriend." Her eyes danced playfully.

"That's right," pitched in Robbie. Unlike LaRouche, he was dead serious. "You can't criticize Oliver when you yourself aren't following the rules."

McDouglas glared murderously at her friends, clearly annoyed that they were siding with Oliver. He couldn't help but grin cockily.

"Anyways," Robbie said, turning to Oliver. "We're doing this to make sure that Operation Wronski Feint" – McDouglas snorted at the name – "goes smoothly as possible. We want this to be as realistic as possible, right? Well, then you've got to know the basics of what it means to be in a relationship."

Oliver sighed in exasperation. "I've been in relationships before, mate. I know what they're like."

"You've _been_ in relationships. That means that they ended, one way or another." He smiled sympathetically. "But we have to try to make this one last."

The Gryffindor threw up his hands in frustration. "But this is all _fake_!" he hissed lowly, leaning in closer to make sure nobody would overhear them. (Not that there were many students out to begin with – the fall air was only getting chillier as the days drew closer to November. Soon enough there would be snow on the ground.) "We don't need to make this relationship 'last'; we only need to make it seem realistic."

"And to make it realistic is to make it last," quipped McDouglas. She seemed to have calmed down, though there was still an annoyed undertone in her voice. "If we're going to do this, Wood" – "Oliver," corrected Robbie, raising his eyebrows – "we're gonna do it right. That means we act the part so well that Lo – _Branleur_ " – She glanced at LaRouche with raised eyebrows and the Slytherin giggled, for she'd been the one to come up with the name – "will be asking when we'll be sending him the wedding invites."

"And you may already know all this obvious dating shite," LaRouche added, "but it's a little different since you and Car don't get along to begin with. You don't realize a lot of things you need to do because you wouldn't think twice about calling her McDouglas."

She brought up a good point there. Oliver scowled and leaned back in defeat, pondering if he could think up another excuse to get out of this awful training.

"Besides." LaRouche wore a wicked smirk that Oliver was quickly noticing to be her trademark look. "You may have dated before, but our darling Car is new to the whole dating scene." Her eyes sparked deviously when they landed on her friend. "She still needs to learn the basics."

Oliver turned to her incredulously. "You've never been in a relationship before?"

"Nope," she replied unabashedly. She shrugged. "I've been more focused on my grades and extracurriculars – never had time to bother with boys. You lot are more work than you're worth." She crinkled her nose.

"I doubt there are many boys who would want to go out with you anyway," Oliver mumbled underneath his breath, though he didn't really mean it – he only said it to spite her, and he knew it worked when McDouglas glared at him. If that had been the truth, they wouldn't be in the predicament they were in. (Then again, Lockhart wasn't exactly a boy. He was a grown man. Which only made it worse.) Then an idea came to him, and his smirk became as wicked as LaRouche's. "You say that we've got make this realistic, 'ey?" McDouglas's eyes were narrow; she knew he was up to something. "Then I suggest we practice snogging. Or shagging." He shrugged. "Both, preferably."

She rolled her eyes, knowing that he was only trying to get a rise out of her. "You can practice with Drey. She's got quite a lot of experience in that field, y'know." She smirked at her friend.

"Are you seriously encouraging your boyfriend to cheat on you?" LaRouche replied incredulously. "And with me?" Her expression then became sly. "You do realize he's never gonna come back to you after he's spent a night with me, right?"

"Good. You can keep him."

"Oi! I'm right here, y'know!"

Robbie sighed and rubbed his temple tiredly. "Maybe we should start by explaining that a relationship is _exclusive_ …"

"For Gods' sake, mate, stop with this training!" Oliver slapped a hand to his face. He felt another wave of déjà vu. His teammates often gave him very similar remarks (in a far cruder manner), complaining about how he was working them too hard on the Quidditch field (which was impossible – you could never spend too much time practicing!) "This is a waste of our time!"

"You'd rather be playing Quidditch than spending time with your darling girlfriend, I presume?" McDouglas raised a brow, pretending to be offended. Her lips twitched.

"Damn right I would."

"Glad you think a sport is more important than your beloved."

"Quidditch _is_ my beloved."

"So you're not cheating on me with Drey, but with a broomstick and balls? I knew it. I suspected it from the start."

LaRouche was keeled over in silent laughter and Robbie was torn between exasperation and amusement. Oliver rolled his eyes, though he would admit (never out loud – he could never give McDouglas the satisfaction) that she'd got him good. Since he couldn't come up with a retort, he merely glared at her and folded his arms across his chest.

"Don't take it too personally, Car," joked Drey. "I know you hate Quidditch and all, but you gotta admit there are some good-looking players out there. Diggory especially is growing up exceptionally _fine_." Her lips curled up in a cat-like smirk. Robbie and McDouglas rolled their eyes.

"We're not meeting right now so you can drool over my fellow Prefects, Drey," reprimanded the Hufflepuff. "We're here to come up with a story of how Oliver and Cara fell in love, remember?"

"Hmm?" Drey blinked at him as if coming out of a daze. "Sorry, I was imagining all the sweaty, gleaming, muscular–"

"That's enough." McDouglas crinkled her nose in disgust. "Keep your fantasies to yourself, you freak." Drey giggled wickedly and flicked her friend playfully on the nose. McDouglas waved her away, acting annoyed (though her lips twitched like she was holding back a laugh). Oliver glanced between the two, again wondering how two opposites have grown to become such close friends.

"Cara's right," grimaced Robbie, looking like he was going to be sick. "Save that for the bedroom."

Oliver snickered. It was strange hearing the sweet and innocent Hufflepuff make such a remark.

"Oh, trust me," Drey purred, her eyes sparkling deviously. "I will." Though she was only being playful, she seemed to be exuding a sexual aura that Oliver, being the teenage boy he was, found himself drawn to. He certainly hadn't been expecting the sly and cold-hearted Slytherin to have the hots for Quidditch players. Or maybe he was taking her too seriously and should've recognized her words for nothing but jests. It was difficult to read and decipher her.

Robbie cleared his throat loudly. " _Anyways_ ," he said, sending Drey a reprimanding look, "Let's come up with some ideas on how you two fell for each other." He nodded at McDouglas and Oliver. "We've got to think of something good so we can make it believable that two people who have been down each other's throats for the past six years suddenly get in a relationship."

"That," McDouglas said, "is going to be difficult." She glanced at Oliver, looking as though she'd swallowed a lemon. He glared at her.

"You can say that again," he grumbled. "Maybe if you weren't such an uppity bitch I would've fallen for you sooner."

"And maybe if you weren't such a Quidditch wanker who cared more about sports than your grades and future I would've fallen for you sooner."

"Maybe if you were passionate about something other than rules and grades–"

"Maybe if you weren't so arrogant–"

" _I'm_ the arrogant one?!"

Robbie sighed and burrowed his face in his hands, exhausted. "These two are off to a great start of a happy and healthy relationship."

Drey, unlike Robbie, was unconcerned. In fact, she was grinning in amusement and watching the two bicker like she was watching a show."I could use some Popping Corn right now," she mused. "Caramel flavored."

"And I could use a tonic for my headache." Robbie groaned and shook his head. "With some fire whiskey," he added darkly. "This is gonna be a long day."

* * *

 _An update within 3 days? Unheard of, I know! The quickest update I"ve ever done is in 18 hours, so this may have not broken the all-time record but it's still pretty darn good! And I broke the record for this story, anyhow._

 _This chapter was obviously more light-hearted than the last one. I actually really enjoyed writing this chapter - like I mentioned in my last A/N, it's been a while since I've written a story like this, and I was reminded how fun it is to just let these teens banter. I will remind you that this fic is rated T for a reason - as you read, there were a few sexual innuendos in this chapter. Nothing over-the-top, of course, but they were still there.  
_

 _Oliver and Cara have made it official! Now this is where the real fun begins...it'll be an interesting journey, that's for sure. I hope you enjoy the journey, even though Cara and Oliver may dread it! XD Thanks again for reading and reviewing! See you next chapter! (Side note: please do not expect me to update as quickly as I did this chapter - I have 2 other chapter stories I work on in addition to this.)  
_


	5. Tea Time

It didn't take long for the rumors to spread. Instead of outright announcing their new relationship status or snogging in the middle of the Great Hall, they used a subtler approach, as per LaRouche's suggestion. Her sly plan of sprinkling in the rumors – a whisper here, a giggle there – throughout the school had worked. Come Monday the entire school seemed to know about the shocking new relationship between the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and the Ravenclaw Headgirl. Even the ghosts were talking about it! (Nearly Headless Nick had popped his head out of Oliver's breakfast to confirm the news.) Now the corridors buzzed with an odd mix of conversations, from fearful whispers about who would be the next victim of the attacks and girlish gasps over the latest Hogwarts celebrity couple.

"Oliver Wood and Cara McDouglas?! Aye, and I'm a bloody Dementor."

"Cara McDouglas? Isn't that the Headgirl who's got a stick up her arse? You're tellin' me _she's_ dating Oliver Wood?"

"Oliver Wood? The hot shot Quidditch Captain? Yeah, I don't think so. He doesn't sound like Cara's type."

Oliver was mostly amused by what the other students were saying about him and McDouglas. He didn't blame them at all for being shocked or doubtful. The younger students, perhaps, didn't know about the long-standing feud between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, but those around Oliver or McDouglas's age knew very well how much they despised one another. It was about as likely for them to get together as it was for McGonagall to cancel class.

Oliver had miscalculated, however. Although McDouglas's closest friends knew about the Wronski Feint operation and played along with it, Oliver had not told anyone that he had started to 'date' McDouglas. (And unlike LaRouche and Robbie, they couldn't be in on the scheme. They had to be just as unaware that this was all a ruse as the rest of the school was.) He realized what a terrible error he'd made when he was suddenly confronted by his Quidditch team in the locker room.

"There's the man of the hour!" Fred – or was it George? – stood up and began to slowly clap. "We've been waiting for you, Wood. Heard an awful lot _about_ you throughout the day but we haven't heard a peep _from_ you." His tone was not its usual playful tone; he sounded annoyed.

"Probably 'cause he's been too busy snogging his latest catch," quipped George bitingly.

"So busy, in fact, he's failed to mention to his teammates that he's in a _relationship_ , and one with _Cara freaking McDouglas._ " Alicia also rose from her seat. She folded her arms across her chest and raised a brow.

"I think you have some explaining to do, Oliver," Angelina added. She, at least, did not act hostile. Surprised, maybe, but not angry. "You have to understand, we're all a bit shocked."

Katie nodded in agreement. Harry glanced around unsurely, looking as if he didn't want to be there, and ducked his head.

Oliver sighed and leaned back against a locker. He certainly hadn't been expecting an interrogation. But now, he supposed, Robbie's 'training session' was showing its use. He was glad they'd come up with a story on how exactly he and McDouglas had gotten together. "I don't blame you. I'm a still reeling a bit from the shock myself." He smiled sheepishly and shrugged. Luckily this portion wasn't difficult to act out because it was true.

"McDouglas didn't cast a spell on you, did she?" Fred asked suspiciously, eying his Captain up and down to see if there was anything different about him.

"Feed you a love potion?" questioned George.

"Threaten you with detention?" suggested Alicia.

Oliver turned towards each person as they spoke, scowling all the while. Katie laughed and shook her head. "McDouglas dislikes Oliver just as much he does her; why would she force him into a relationship?" Oliver brightened. At least Katie had his back and still had her wits about her!

Fred shrugged. "I dunno. Those Ravenclaws always have something up their sleeves. Especially her. Who knows what her intentions are for my mate?" Oliver was both amused and exasperated by his friend's camaraderie.

"To shag him, sounds like," muttered George, his lips twitching.

Oliver cleared his throat loudly and nudged his head pointedly towards Harry. George pursed his lips but said no more.

"Hold it, the lot of you," Oliver said loudly in his 'Captain' voice, raising his hands in the air to silence all protests. It grew quiet. He cleared his throat importantly and looked around at his team. "I didn't realize that this practice session was in fact going to be a gossip session." Alicia rolled her eyes. "Normally, I'd tell you to stow it and get out on the field, but since I doubt any of you will be focused during practice unless I tell you what's going on…" He lowered his broom. "I suppose practice will have to wait a few more minutes."

His team shared looks of surprise. It was very unlike Oliver to postpone practice for any reason, let alone to gossip. They didn't complain, however, and kept their mouths shut as they eagerly awaited his explanation. Alicia looked like a sphinx ready to pounce; she was no doubt excited to hear the truth behind the latest gossip. Katie and Angelina were curious and Fred and George suspicious. Harry still looked like he didn't want to be there.

"The rumors about McDouglas and me are true," Oliver began. Alicia gasped dramatically and the Weasley twins scoffed disbelievingly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you all earlier – it just slipped my mind. I didn't expect it to happen so fast."

George rubbed his temple as if in pain. "But none of this makes any sense, mate. You and McDouglas _hate_ each other!"

"We did," admitted Oliver, smiling slightly. _Still do, actually._ He hoped he was acting natural and honest. "But over the summer we grew quite close, and throughout these past few months at school we've grown even closer. We figured it was best to take the next step in our relationship."

"Wait a second." Angelina raised a hand. "If you and McDouglas have been in contact since the summer, how is that we're finding out about this just now?"

Oliver shrugged. "Not like we started off as a summer fling. We became friends. I suppose I didn't really think it was necessary to tell you that I'd made a new friend over the summer."

"Uh, yeah, you should've." Alicia placed her hands on her hips. "She's not just another regular student from down the street. She's _McDouglas_." She raised her brows. "Your feud with her is almost as old as Dumbledore." George snickered.

Oliver rolled his eyes. He raised his hands in defeat. "'Lright, 'lright, so maybe I should've mentioned that I'd become friends with my sworn enemy. I'm sorry. I really didn't think it was a big deal – I didn't even think to mention it."

"Go on, then," Katie encouraged, shushing the others. "You say you grew closer with her over the summer?" Katie, always the romantic, leaned forward eagerly with her doe eyes wide and curious.

He nodded. "Aye. She was visiting family in Glasgow while I was coaching for Little League Quidditch. Funny thing is, we actually ran into each other at the cathedral. Her cousins invited me for tea and…" He shrugged. "The rest is history."

"What d'you mean 'the rest is history'?" demanded Alicia. She was not going to let up until she got all the juicy details. "What, you fell in love with her over a cup of tea?"

"Sounds like a love potion to me," said Fred.

Oliver rolled his eyes impatiently. "I didn't fall for her right then and there, you dunces. We just had a good conversation." He shrugged. The twins shared doubtful looks. "I offered to take her sightseeing while she was there. We went and had a lot of fun." He paused. "She's a different person outside of school. I saw a whole other side of her." He had to bite down on the inside of his cheek for that lie. He would've liked to say she was a lot more relaxed and kinder outside of school, but for some reason he doubted that was true. There was only so many falsehoods he could say.

"So you've been in contact with her ever since?" Angelina asked. She frowned. "I haven't seen you spending much time with her."

Why did his team have to be so bloody observant? It was often a fantastic skill to have on the field, but he wished now they wouldn't be so probing when it came to his personal life. Thankfully, Alicia came swooping to his rescue.

"Actually…" she said slowly. "I _have_ seen you with each other on occasion. Just the other day, in fact, she asked to speak with you in private…" Realization dawned on her. "Bloody hell, was that when…?!"

Oliver tried not to grin too broadly. Let them think that McDouglas was the one to ask him out! "I think that's enough gossip for one day." He picked up his broom. "C'mon, let's go practice. I know Potter is itching to catch that Snitch." He winked at the Second Year, who smiled at him unsurely. He began to lead the team out of the locker rooms and onto the field.

"I think he's just itching to get out of here," laughed Angelina, playfully ruffling Harry's hair and making it stick up even more. "Sorry Harry, you haven't a clue or a care what we're talking about, do you?"

He shrugged sheepishly. "It's not so much that I don't care as it is that I don't know." He paused. "I mean, if Oliver's got a new girlfriend, and they're happy, isn't that all that matters?"

"Spoken like a true mate." Oliver clamped a hand on his shoulder. "Why can't you all be supportive like that?" He glanced around accusingly at the rest of his team.

"Because we know the history between you two," chirped Fred matter-of-factedly. "Don't be mad at us for doubting you."

"'Lright, 'lright," surrendered Oliver. "I don't blame you for acting suspicious. Besides, you're only looking out for my best interests, right?" He smiled hopefully at them.

When he didn't receive a reply he rolled his eyes and mounted his broom. "Some team you are," he grumbled. "Now, c'mon, we've got a game to prepare for!" And he shot off into the pitch before anyone could reply.

* * *

Cara had never seen so many pictures of one man before. Different poses, different ages, different hairstyles and outfits…but the same man. If she'd thought that the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was bad, it was nothing compared to Lockhart's office. She had never seen so many gleaming teeth and bright blue eyes in one place before. She was certain she was going to be blind by the end of this meeting.

The real Lockhart – in the flesh, not accepting an award or flying around on a broomstick like the ones in the pictures – leaned forward in front of her to fill her cup with tea. He was dressed less extravagantly than usual, wearing simple robes and a beret hat. It suited him quite well, she hated to admit, but the hat made him appear even more pompous than usual.

"Sugar or milk?" he asked, gesturing towards them. She smiled and shook her head.

"No thank you, sir."

He chuckled knowingly. "Ah, of course. The Irish like their tea strong." He smiled and filled his own cup with tea. He took a seat across from her at his desk and began to add the milk and sugar. "I, on the other hand, like my tea quite sweet."

She swirled her spoon in her Earl Grey to cool it down. Then, once Lockhart finished stirring his tea, she took a sip of her own. It was a far lighter and more fragrant tea than the usual Irish Breakfast she had, but she politely enjoyed it nonetheless. She smiled when she lowered her cup back down to its saucer. She took one of the biscuits he offered.

"Thank you," she said. "You can't go wrong with a good cuppa tea and biscuits."

He chuckled and took a sip of his own sweetened Earl Grey. "Truer words have never been spoken, Miss. McDouglas." He placed his cup down and leaned back in his chair. He began to ask her how her classes and extracurriculars were going ("I'd be more than happy to offer you private lessons if your classes aren't challenging enough. I'm proficient in more than just defending against the Dark Arts – Charms, Arithmancy, Herbology…you name it!") which then slowly began to drift towards conversations about her personal life. He did a surprisingly good job being subtle about it (perhaps this was a method he used often on the ladies), and she didn't even realize until he was asking her,

"And do you find it difficult managing classes and studying while in a relationship?" Though his tone and smile was innocent, his body language said otherwise.

 _What a smooth bastard_ , she thought. _Perhaps I've underestimated him._ She smiled brightly and replied, "It's too soon to say, Professor. Wood and I have only just made it official."

There. It was the first time she had said it aloud, and to Lockhart, no less. Hopefully this bloody plan – Roonski Faint, did Wood call it? – was going to work. It had to.

He began to cough violently, having taken a poorly timed sip of his tea. His handsome face was quickly turning a shade of red, and he raised a hand to indicate that he was okay when she asked him if he was alright.

"So you and Mr. Wood, hmm?" he croaked. He quickly gulped down some water and cleared his throat, drawing himself back up regally. "I didn't realize you two were so…fond of one another." He paused. "The rest of the school also seems to be under the same impression."

Cara raised an eyebrow. "Are the professors gossiping about us as much as the students?" she asked irritably, unable to hide her annoyance and disbelief. "Sir," she added tartly.

He smiled pacifyingly. His expression appeared patronizing to her, and she had to bite her tongue to hold her temper. "I wouldn't go so far as to say we were _gossiping_ about it," he amended. "But it may have been _mentioned_ once or twice." His eyes danced playfully. "Professor McGonagall may be confronting you and Mr. Wood individually to make sure that there is nothing…ill-intentioned going on," he said delicately. "But you didn't hear that from me," he added, conspiratorially leaning over the table. He was so bold as to wink at her. She raised her eyebrows.

"I assure you, sir – and feel free to announce it to the rest of the professors, if you so please – that there is absolutely nothing 'ill-intentioned' going on between Wood and I." She huffed indignantly. Shouldn't the professors be more concerned about stopping the attacks on the students than on the latest gossip? "I don't know why everyone is making such a big deal about this." Truth be told, however, though she did not like being the headlines of school gossip, that had been the whole point; to make her relationship with Wood as obvious and transparent as possible so Lockhart could get a move on.

"Because, Miss. McDouglas, from what I've heard today it sounds as if you and Mr. Wood have never seen eye-to-eye." _Maybe if you didn't spend so much of your ruddy time listening to the students gossip, you would have time to spend on your wand work_ , she thought bitingly. "It seems a little odd for you two to become romantically involved with one another when all these years you appear to have not even been on friendly terms!" He leaned forward again, but this time his expression was one of concern. "If Mr. Wood is forcing you to do something you don't want to–"

That was it. He had gone too far. She might not have liked Wood, but the idea that he would force this relationship on her? Lockhart made it sound as if Wood would force her into situations even worse than that, and she wasn't going to let that slide by. "That's enough, Professor," she interrupted crisply and unapologetically. "I do not appreciate the insinuations you are making about my boyfriend." Boyfriend. The term felt foreign on her tongue. She only hoped it didn't sound like it.

Lockhart quickly backtracked, realizing his mistake. "Forgive me, Miss. McDouglas. I meant no offense." His eyes were beseeching. "I am simply concerned. I am trying to look out for your wellbeing."

"I'm doing just fine, thank you very much." (In fact, this whole ruse had been done to ensure her wellbeing and protect her honor!) She was tempted to get up and leave, but she knew how terribly that would reflect on her. Arse though he was, he was still her professor. She took a moment to steel herself and stop from snapping at him. "I understand you're only looking out for me, Professor. But I can look after myself." She smiled tightly.

"Of course!" he said quickly, nodding vigorously. "I know you're completely capable of yourself, m'dear – I didn't mean to imply that you're not." He paused, considering his next words. He must've come to his senses that apologizing would be the best thing to do, rather than to continue interrogating her. "I didn't mean to offend you – or Mr. Wood, for that matter." He smiled sheepishly. "Do forgive me. I overreacted. I suppose I am just a little…" He gestured vaguely. "Overprotective. You are, after all, my star pupil." He grinned.

Well, at least he wasn't a total dunce. But she had a feeling this would not be the last time they discussed her newfound relationship. She could only hope that he would let up within the next week or two. Otherwise it would defeat the purpose of her pretending to date Wood in the first place! "Thank you, Professor." She smiled and nodded. "Apology accepted. I'm sorry, too, for losing my temper."

"No worries, m'dear," he replied brightly, waving her off. "You had every right to be upset! Now, let's discuss what I invited you here for in the first place! I am most curious to hear about your ambitions after school…"

Lockhart showed her to the door after their conversation had come to a close. She excused herself with that pretty smile of hers before disappearing from sight.

He sighed and went back to his desk, plopping down into his chair. He threw his legs up on his desk and put his hands behind his head. He stared up thoughtfully at the ceiling.

So what he'd heard throughout the day in the corridors had been true after all. Oliver Wood was dating Cara McDouglas. And, according to her, their relationship was genuine, but he still had his suspicions that Wood was forcing her into it. He would have to confront the Gryffindor later in the week…

Lockhart was intrigued by this strange turn of events. Here he thought he'd been winning McDouglas over! What did she see in that boy? Sure, he was a Quidditch Captain. (But what did that matter? Didn't he overhear some students mention that McDouglas didn't even like Quidditch?) He was easy on the eyes, too, if you're into the burly type. But he lacked something he knew McDouglas held in high regard: intelligence. Now that was something Lockhart had a lot of! He was also certain he looked more the part of McDouglas's type than Wood did. She was not the kind of girl to date a rough-looking lad, but one with class…like him!

After their conversation, he was more than certain they were a perfect match. Her ambitions, as she'd told him, were to work at the Ministry of Magic as an ambassador with a specialization with Muggle relations. It hadn't surprised him. She was, after all, a very ambitious young woman. Lockhart had never chased after a woman who was as ambitious – or, dare he say it, _more_ ambitious – than him, and he wondered if it was really even a good idea. There was always the chance she would outshine him. It was one of the reasons Lockhart often went after women who didn't have the same drive or desires as McDouglas. (Though the main reason was because they were easier to get into bed.) However, for some reason, that didn't turn him off. In fact, it only further fueled his fire. Perhaps, he thought shrewdly, he was maturing and wanted a woman who was equally worthy of him as he was of her.

So why would somebody like her go out with that _boy_ , Wood? When Lockhart, being the _man_ he was, was clearly the better option? (And had, he hoped, made his interest in her at least somewhat apparent.)

Perhaps she had agreed to go out with Wood because she pitied him. Or perhaps, because she knew she could never get together with Lockhart (publicly, anyway – he was sure they could make it work somehow!) she had decided to distract herself by throwing herself into a relationship with someone else. Whatever the reason was, he just knew it wasn't because she genuinely enjoyed Wood's company. There was underlying reason to it.

And he was going to get to the bottom of it.

* * *

 _Lockhart doesn't know when to give up - I'll give him that. He is as persistent as he is narcissistic. This chapter was obviously focused on the reactions of others...we'll get into Wood and Cara actually interacting as new 'lovers' later. Let me know what you thought of the chapter!_

 _A big shout out to Army-X-7 for working with me on my cover photo! It looks freaking amazing, I love it! Thank you so much for putting in the time and effort to help me out!_


	6. Playing Pretend

"You're squeezing too hard."

"I didn't realize you were even capable of feeling," she scoffed. Despite her jest, she relaxed her grip on him.

"Emotions? No," he confirmed without batting an eye. "Physical pain? Yes."

"So sorry, _love,_ " she crooned mockingly, her lips curled in disdain. "I didn't realize how sensitive you are." Her smirk was somehow both playful and mocking.

He scowled. "It's not that I'm sensitive, it's that you've got the grip of a bloody troll!" It was her turn to scowl. "I noticed that before, too," he added, thinking back to the times she had grasped onto his arm out of anger, "What is up with you?"

Her expression was a strange mixture of pride and exasperation. "I grew up helping my dad out in the shop," she explained, shrugging. "S'ppose I'm stronger than I look." Her eyes gleamed while a dangerous smirk curved its ways across her lips. "Best not to underestimate me, _darling._ "

Wood rolled his eyes. He and Cara were walking down the hall hand-in-hand (hence Wood's complaint about her grip) at their attempt of making a public display of their commitment to each other. They and their fellow conspirators had had a report out last night to see how the school had reacted the first few days. Although the rumors were out there, not many people actually believed that Wood and Cara were exclusive; they either thought it was an outright lie or a joke.

 _"You haven't even made a public appearance together!" Robbie reprimanded incredulously. "How is the school expected to fall for your ploy when you haven't even been sighted together?!"_

And so it was that they now had to live up to the role of boyfriend-girlfriend. Cara knew what she'd been getting herself into when she'd signed up for this, but she still wasn't thrilled. Thankfully Wood hadn't made an attempt to smooch her yet (though he often joked about it). She only wished they would never have to go so far to prove their 'love' for each other.

"Oh, trust me, lass, it's my underestimation of you that's gotten us in this situation." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully at her, and she smirked cockily. He paused, drumming his fingers against hers thoughtfully. "Your dad owns a shop?" he asked, intrigued. She, in turn, was surprised by what appeared to his genuine curiosity. It was strange, engaging in small talk with Wood. More often than not they were engaged in an argument or in a fiery battle of both wits and spells. She realized how he knew as little about her as she did him.

She smiled. "No, he's a mechanic at an auto shop…he fixes automobiles," she clarified to Wood's blank expression. "Y'know, the thing Ron Weasley and Harry Potter crashed into the Whomping Willow a few months ago? It's a form of Muggle transportation."

His confused expression lit up in recognition. "Ah, right!" He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I didn't realize Muggles knew how to make objects fly."

"They don't." She chuckled. Sometimes she forgot how ignorant wizards and witches were of Muggle existence. Instead of being offended, however, or thinking him dense, she found his confusion amusing. He wasn't the only one who knew little about Muggle culture. "That car they drove only flew because a wizard enchanted it. I hear Mr. Weasley likes to fiddle with Muggle objects," she added as an afterthought, remembering the time Percy had once accidentally mentioned his father's eccentric hobby. The Gryffindor had turned bright in embarrassment when he'd realized he'd let the supposed secret slip. Cara, however, had been delighted to hear about Mr. Weasley's fascination with Muggles (though she still frowned down upon illegal manipulation of Muggle objects). It was a shame Percy had to act embarrassed about his family sometimes. "Flying cars are talk of science fiction, of the future." She paused thoughtfully. "But maybe one day we'll think of a way to make them fly. Without the help of wizards." Her smile was one of hope and pride.

Oliver raised his brows slightly. He grew quiet in thought. She was talking about the Muggles as if they were her own people. Which, he realized, they were, in part. Though she was a witch, she had been brought up as a Muggle. Her family, her neighbors, the children she had grown up playing besides…they were all Muggles, no doubt. A part of her would always identify with the Muggle community. Oliver was relieved, in fact, that the pureblood maniacs had not deterred her from associating with her Muggle kin. Then again, this was McDouglas. She wasn't the kind of person to let some bashing from a couple Slytherins bother her.

He cleared his throat. "So your dad, he fixes these…cars?" The word felt foreign on his tongue.

"Yup." She nodded. "He's taught me all I know about them, too; I'm quite the mechanic myself." She grinned, and it wasn't so much out of cockiness as it was pride. "In fact, if they ever find that car that Potter and Weasley crashed, I'd love to get my hands on it…" Her eyes glinted hungrily like those of a predator chasing its prey.

Oliver smirked slightly. Typical Ravenclaw, hoping to solve riddles. Whether it was with words, numbers, or – apparently – car parts, they were an investigative lot. It was what got them into trouble or on people's nerves sometimes, since it would get to the point where they were nosing around in other people's business. "I gotta say, McDouglas, I never would've thought you to be the fixer-upper sorta lass." He smirked. "Always thought you to be, oh, a little more…" He gestured vaguely in the air. "Posh." He shrugged. "For an Irishwoman, anyways."

Though he was actually quite serious, his tone was playful and good-natured. He truthfully had always thought her to come from a more privileged background – her personality practically screamed it, being the perfectionist and do-gooder she was. She certainly didn't look the part of a rough-and-tumble lass, either, which would've been expected of a girl who grew up fixing things.

She rolled her eyes, recognizing that his jibe was not meant to be harmful. "Posh?" she scoffed. "Not a single soul in Ireland is 'posh', I'll tell you that."

"Hear ye, hear ye!" crowed Seamus Finnigan, who had been passing by with a handful of other Second Years. He threw a hand in the air as if he was holding a mug of beer.

McDouglas laughed alongside the Second Years while Oliver interjected, "Lemme tell you, the Scottish are even less posh than the Irish!" Unfortunately, there were no other Scots to rally to his side. He pursed his lips childishly.

"Really, Seamus," reprimanded Hermione Granger snootily, "Aren't you a little young to even pretend to be drinking ale?"

"It is my utmost pleasure, Granger," grinned Finnigan, swooping low in a mock bow, "to say that, for once, you are wrong." Ron Weasley hollered excitedly, earning himself a warning glance from Potter. "We Irish start drinking sooner than we start walking!" He and the other Gryffindor lads roared with laughter while Granger rolled her eyes and huffed indignantly.

"Oi, don't go 'round sharing our secrets like that!" scolded McDouglas, placing a hand on Finnigan's shoulder. Her eyes were alight in amusement. Her accent had grown thicker now that she was speaking with one of her Irish kin. "Or the English will use our secrets and claim them as their own, as they are wont to do!" She winked at Finnigan. He snickered while his English friends frowned at the light jab. "Now, scram, and quit talkin' about ale or beer, else Dumbledore'll be sending you straight back to the Motherland!" She gave him a light shove on the shoulder to get him moving.

Finnigan beamed at her; you'd think he had just befriended the Queen, the way he was goggling at her in awe. He giggled and waved her goodbye before he flitted down the hallway with the rest of his friends. Granger followed them with an angry huff, but not before sparing a perplexed and annoyed glance at McDouglas. McDouglas raised her brows and glanced questioningly at Oliver, who threw his head back and laughed.

"You better watch your back, lass," he chortled, nudging her in the side. "I bet Granger's gonna report you to McGonagall." He paused. "Y'know, that little lass reminds me of you a wee bit." He grinned.

McDouglas rolled her eyes. "She's a Second Year; she doesn't worry me. Besides," she sniffed, "If McGonagall still has an ounce of Irish humor in her, she'll give me a pat on the back and a biscuit."

"I dunno about that," he teased. "I don't think McGongall has _any_ sense of humor left in her."

"So she may lead you to believe," countered McDouglas, "but she's still an Irishwoman. I daresay she's witter than you think."

"So witty, in fact, that she may send both of you to detention if you don't get a move on to class."

They turned in surprise to see the very Professor they'd been discussing towering behind them. Her lips were set in a tight line, but humor sparkled in the eyes behind her square glasses.

"S'ppose you're right, McDouglas," Oliver said, after he'd had a second to compose himself. He winked at her. "That Irish blood still works its charm."

* * *

"Mr. Wood!"

Oliver jolted awake. He quickly wiped away the drool dribbling down his mouth (he had been blissfully dreaming about carrying the Quidditch Cup on his shoulders) and sat up straight in an attempt to appear attentive. His classmates weren't fooled, however, and, surprisingly, neither was his Professor.

"Does my lecture bore you so much that you would rather sleep during my class than listen to me?" Lockhart's bright blue eyes were narrowed at him in his (failed) attempt to appear intimidating and 'teacher-like.'

 _Aye. I'd sooner fly through a hailstorm than listen to another minute of your shite. Hell, I'd even rather listen to Binns than you!_ He paused _. Actually,_ _I'll take the hailstorm over the both of them._ "Not at all, Professor." He wondered if McDouglas always felt like this when she lied through her teeth and kissed arse. "I just didn't sleep well last night, that's all." He shrugged sheepishly.

"I think we all know why," snickered the loud-mouthed Finitre Mordaunt. He was a Sixth Year Slytherin with a surprisingly deep voice for his small stature. He smirked knowingly at Oliver, who frowned in confusion.

Lockhart turned to Mordaunt with one of his finely groomed brows raised. "Please, Mr. Mordaunt." He spread his arms wide, looking like an eagle spreading its wings. "Enlighten me."

Mordaunt glanced at the student sitting next to him then back at Lockhart. His face scrunched up in thought as he pretended to contemplate what would be the most appropriate thing to say. "Y'see, Professor," he said slowly, "I don't know if you've heard the news, but Wood has a new girlfriend."

"Yes, yes." Lockhart's snappy tone surprised the class. Oliver grimaced. "What is your point?"

Mordaunt raised his brows meaningfully and smirked. He glanced down at his fingernails casually and began to pick at them. "She must keep him fairly occupied at night, I expect."

A sudden hush fell over the class once everybody had a full understanding of Mordaunt's implication. The Slytherins were barely holding back their gleeful laughter, while the Gryffindors were torn between amusement and shock at Mordaunt's boldness. Oliver, on the other hand, was horrified. He barely dared raise his head. The Professor had grown still as stone. One of his hands was balled up into a fist. His jaw popped as he clenched his teeth while his cheeks blossomed pink.

Oliver wished he had a Bludger to throw at Mordaunt. As it were, he supposed he would just have to strangle him.

"…Since she had to stay up late helping him with his homework," said somebody slowly from behind. Oliver turned to see that it was Percy Weasley who had spoken. Percy, too, looked mad (his ears were red) but his tone was cool and neutral. "In fact, I had to take Cara's shift last night precisely because she had to help Wood." It was an outright lie, they both knew, since Oliver had spent last night strategizing for the next game. Merlin knows what McDouglas had been up to. Oliver wanted to give Percy a nod of thanks, but Percy did not meet his eye, staring straight ahead at Lockhart instead.

The tension disappeared from the room when Lockhart breathed in relief. He smiled tightly and nodded. "Thank you for clarifying, Mr. Weasley." He turned sharply to Mordaunt. "Ten points from Slytherin," he said crisply, "for disrupting class."

Mordaunt gaped at him. "Professor…!" Mordaunt often spoke up during class without being called on, but he'd never had points taken off for it before.

"Shall I make it fifteen?" He raised an eyebrow. This finally silenced Mordaunt. He scowled and leaned back in his chair sullenly. The room had grown quiet again. Lockhart had never deducted points from any House before. None of the students had ever seen him so irritated. (And only Oliver knew why.) "And ten points from Gryffindor for your behavior, Mr. Wood." He whirled on Oliver, a fire in his eyes. "I will not tolerate my students sleeping during class."

"…Aye, sir," Oliver murmured, gritting his teeth. Lockhart smirked winningly before turning back to the blackboard to continue his lecture. Oliver glared darkly at Lockhart's back. Obviously, McDouglas was still a touchy subject; Lockhart was angry that she had gotten together with Oliver, and it was Oliver who was on the receiving end of Lockhart's wrath. This class was only going to get worse and worse as Lockhart's punishments would no doubt increase in severity. Briefly he wondered if Lockhart was treating McDouglas equally terribly. He reminded himself to ask her later.

The bell that signaled the end of class rang not too long after. Oliver rushed out of the classroom before Lockhart could catch him. He was looking around for Percy to thank him when Mordaunt called out,

"Oi, Wood!" His hands were in his pockets while he swaggered towards Oliver. Oliver glared at him, knowing by the look on his smug face that he had something up his sleeve. "Tell us, is McDouglas as much a bore in bed as she is in class?" He smirked. His friends cackled and wolf-whistled.

"Bet you wish you knew," Oliver replied scathingly, not missing a beat. A crowd was quickly forming between them as curious students stopped to watch the argument unfold. "The closest you've ever been to touching a woman was when you popped out your mum's womb." He smirked slightly, in a silent challenge. The audience snickered amongst themselves.

The grin fell off Mordaunt's face, and his expression darkened. He glared at the bystanders but, always one for the spotlight, didn't shoo them off. "Is that what you think?" he sneered, his eyes flashing dangerously. "'Cause I think the last time woman I touched was _your_ mum." He smirked triumphantly when Oliver's face flushed red in anger. The crowd "ooh"ed and jeered.

"That's two of me ladies you've insulted," he growled darkly. His hand twitched towards the wand in his pocket. "You take 'em back right now, if you know what's best for you."

"She's quite kinky, your mum," Mordaunt continued as if Oliver hadn't spoken. He seemed to have realized that it was better insulting Oliver's mother rather than his girlfriend, as it was getting more of a reaction out of him. His confidence grew in relation to Oliver's anger; he grinned winningly at the now red-faced Gryffindor. "Likes to call me _daddy_." He leered closer and winked. "Soon enough you will be too."

Oliver was furious beyond reasoning; his self-restraint snapped in two. One moment Mordaunt's arrogant smirk was twitching in front of him, and the next he was cursing in pain, his hand over his nose while blood leaked between his fingers and onto his expensive robes. Oliver didn't register the crowd shouting and cheering, "Fight! Fight!"

"You bastard!" Mordaunt shrieked, his voice muffled behind his hand. "You broke my nose!"

His friends were quick to his defense; four wands were pointed threateningly in Oliver's direction, though nobody yet cast a spell. Oliver didn't spare any of them a second glance, too furious to care.

"I warned you!" he growled, his accent thick in anger. He pointed murderously at Mordaunt. Warm blood trickled down his knuckles and fell to the floor. Adrenaline buzzed through his senses. "Another word out your pathetic mouth, and I'll have you knocked out cold on the floor – without having to use a _Stupefy_!"

"You keep fighting like an uncivilized Muggle," jeered one of Mordaunt's cronies, "while I show you how a _real_ wizard knocks out his opponents!" He stabbed his wand forward like a fencing sword and shouted, " _Stupefy_!"

Oliver quickly pulled out his wand, despite knowing in the back of his mind that he would not be quick enough to defend the spell.

 _"Protego!"_

A shield suddenly appeared before him, absorbing the _Stupefy_ spell, before it vanished. He turned to see Percy Weasley storming into the scene. He had been the one to cast the Shield Charm.

"That's enough, you lot!" His Prefect badge glinted importantly as he strode in with his head held high and his brows furrowed. He waved away the bystanders, some of whom had already begun to scatter. "Show's over! Get a move on before I write you all up for soliciting a fight!" That got the rest of them moving. Some of Mordaunt's friends tried to disappear amongst them, but Percy was sharp and caught them before they could so much as plant one foot in front of the other. Soon enough there were only the five Slytherins and two Gryffindors left.

"Come to save your mate's skin?" wheezed Mordaunt, somehow still stupid enough to continue his taunting. For a Slytherin, he wasn't very tactful. "Or are you here to defend his woman's honor?" He scoffed while Percy twitched. "It's too bad, isn't it, Weasel?" Percy glared at him. "You've only pined after her for six bloody years before this bastard comes along and decides he wants in, eh?" He tutted and clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Percy's face had turned a ghostly white, and his hands had balled up into fists. "Too bad you don't have balls the size of Wood's." He paused. "Bet they're what keeps her coming to his bedroom every night." Mordaunt laughed hoarsely, splattering blood on the floor. Filch was not going to be pleased about cleaning up his mess.

Percy's face, neck, and ears had turned a bright red, and his fists shook in fury. Oliver had half a mind to think that he was going to knock Mordaunt out right then and there...without the help of magic.

Percy, however, unlike Oliver, knew how to control himself. Instead of smacking Mordaunt, his form of torture was:

"Two weeks of detention for you, Mordaunt, for initiating this conflict and for inappropriate remarks about fellow students." His voice trembled with ill-disguised rage. "And for being a cheeky son-of-a-bitch." Ah, there it was. Even Percy couldn't hide all of his anger.

Mordaunt grinned toothily, revealing the blood caked on his teeth. He spat at Percy's feet.

"Make that three weeks. And ten points from Slytherin."

"Aye aye, sir." Mordaunt bowed mockingly. He didn't seem bothered in the least. In fact, he was still smirking like the smug codswallop he was. Getting a rise out of Weasley and Wood had made all of this worth it to him. He would have a chance to get back at them soon enough. "Now, if you'll excuse me, your Prefect-ness, if I don't take my leave for the Hospital Wing now, _you'll_ be the one in trouble for keeping me longer than you should've."

"Get out of my sight," spat Percy, glaring contemptuously at the Slytherin. He grinned and gave one last bow to "your Majesty, the Bleeding Blood Traitor Weasel." He shot Oliver one last winning smirk – which didn't make any sense, since Oliver was clearly the winner in this fight – before turning on his heels and stalking off.

Oliver barely had time to relish his victory; Percy had turned on him, and he looked at him just as angrily as he had at Mordaunt. "As for you, Wood, you also earned yourself three weeks of detention for inflicting harm upon a fellow student and engaging in a fight," he said mercilessly, his tone clipped. He paused. "And thirty points from Gryffindor."

Oliver gaped at him, aghast. The remaining Slytherins smirked at one another. " _Thirty points_?! The three weeks I get, but why d'you have to deduct so many points? And from your own House!"

"We Prefects show no favoritism," Percy replied matter-of-factedly. "You broke Mordaunt's nose; I think thirty points would accurately reflect that."

"But–"

"And one week for you, Kersiski," he continued, addressing the Slytherin who had attempted to _Stupefy_ Oliver, "for engaging in this duel and attempting to harm a fellow student."

Oliver scowled. "Why does he only get one week but I get three?"

Percy glanced at him over his shoulder. His expression was cold and his eyes dark. Oliver thought there must've been more behind the anger in his eyes than this fight. "Because you actually inflicted harm upon a student, while Kersiski only attempted to."

Kersiski grinned at Oliver, who glared at him in return.

"He would've succeeded, if you hadn't come to my help," he pointed out. "It's as good as."

Percy considered this for a moment. "Very well," he acquiesced, nodding. "One and a half weeks for you, Kersiski, and one week for the rest of you." Kersiski's face dropped. Percy drew himself to his full height importantly, staring down at everyone through slit eyes, like a Hippogriff assessing its prey. "I expect to see you tonight at seven o'clock sharp outside the Gryffindor Common Room. I'm sure I can rustle up something useful for you to do during your detention." He ignored their mumbled complaints. "And if you _don't_ show up," he added, raising his brows, "I'll only add another week of detention to the list. Now, get a move on. Third hour will be starting soon."

Still muttering underneath their breaths, the Slytherins departed, but not before sending Oliver one last glare and rude hand gesture.

"You too, Wood," Percy said, beginning to walk away, his back turned to him. "I'll not be responsible for you arriving late to class."

"Hold up, Perce." Percy paused, his head cocked slightly in question. Even though Oliver was thoroughly annoyed and sour with the way the fellow Gryffindor was treating him – three weeks and a thirty point deduction was definitely an overreaction – a thanks was still in order. "Listen, thanks for helping me back there. And for speaking up for me during class. You didn't have to do that."

"No, I didn't," he agreed, finally turning around to face him. "But I didn't do it for you." His hazel eyes flickered.

It took a moment for Oliver to realize that he had done it for McDouglas to protect her honor. (Just like Mordaunt had, in fact, said.) Yet Oliver hadn't even thought of how it might affect her reputation; he'd been more concerned with Lockhart's reaction. Even when he'd been arguing with Mordaunt, he truthfully hadn't cared too much about what the Slytherin had to say about McDouglas. After all, hadn't it been Oliver himself who'd insulted her similarly not so long ago? But here was Percy, standing up for the lass that he clearly cared for and admired. A hint of guilt and pity tugged at Oliver.

"…She's lucky to have you, y'know." Percy raised his brows in surprise. "As a friend, I mean." Oliver winced, realizing that he was only making Percy feel worse about his unrequited feelings.

He didn't seem hurt, however, but suspicious and guarded. "I wish I could say the same about you," he replied coolly. His eyes were hard. "I don't know what you're up to, Wood, but I'll get to the bottom of it. And don't play stupid with me," he added when Oliver opened his mouth to protest. "I know Cara isn't going out with you because she fell for you – that's a load of dragon dung." He snorted. "No, I know you fed her a love potion, and I'll prove it."

Oliver's jaw popped. He no longer felt guilty, but angry and impatient. How could Percy seriously think that he had fed her a love potion? Did he truly have no faith in him? C'mon, they weren't good friends or anything, but shouldn't Percy know that Oliver wasn't the kinda guy to stoop so low? "You're just jealous, mate," he deadpanned.

Percy looked as if Oliver had slapped him across the face. Oliver felt a twinge of guilt again – it wasn't like he actually had feelings for McDouglas, so it wasn't necessary for him to be so rude to Percy. Before he could apologize, however, the Prefect was already turning his back on him. Coolly, he replied,

"Never call me mate again." And he stalked off without another word.


	7. Duelling Club

Gilderoy Lockhart had dealt with many women throughout his life, and more often than not he was able to charm his way into their hearts (and beds). He knew women adored his luscious golden locks and dazzling smile; his flirtatious winks and flowery flattery; his intellect and bravery. He sometimes even felt sorry for them – for how could you expect them to resist someone as devastatingly handsome and utterly charming as him? Some women liked to play coy with him and act uninterested, but at the end of the night they both got what they wanted. Of course, not all women were prone to fall for him. There were ladies who remained faithful to their husbands and others who stated simply that he was not their type. (Code word: these women were attracted to the same sex. There could be no other explanation. He was every woman's fantasy.)

Cara McDouglas, however, was a whole other kind of woman. She was one of those "hard to get" ladies, and she was an expert at the game. To go so far as to date Wood in order to make Lockhart jealous…a classic approach. He would've expected no less from her. In fact, it only made him work even harder to win her over. He tried to get himself alone with her as often as possible, to show her that he was a far superior choice to Wood and that they needn't play this game of cat-and-mouse. It was difficult, however, as his interest in her couldn't be apparent to others; he had to find school-related reasons to spend time with her.

So it was that he'd invited her to help him set up the first meeting for the Dueling Club. He wanted to impress her (by showing off his amazing dueling skills, of course) while also being able to get some alone time with her. He'd been excited when she'd most graciously agreed to help him, but now he cursed himself for not being clearer in his request. She had invited LaRouche and Hilliard along with her (though thankfully not Wood) and the four of them were now setting up the Great Hall. Lockhart had acted pleasantly surprised when McDouglas had arrived with her friends, but he was quite sour and annoyed about the whole ordeal. Even now he sulked as he and the students arranged the golden stage along the wall.

"There we are!" Cara said in accomplishment, her hands on her hips. She glanced around the Great Hall proudly. Without the dining tables, the space was admirable and overwhelming; when it was packed with students, you didn't really notice how big it was.

Robbie echoed her thoughts aloud. "It's a really open space, innit?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "Though I guess we shouldn't be surprised. They used it as a ballroom back in the day, after all." She envisioned men and women in masks and regal dresses dancing around the empty space while the orchestra played cheerful music. She smiled to herself. Maybe she should find the Fat Friar or Nearly Headless Nick and ask them about how often they had had dances. They could show her a few of their moves.

"Really?" Lockhart sounded intrigued, but there was something in his tone that concerned Cara. There was hint of mischief and slyness to it. "Do you know this because you're a ballroom dancer yourself, Miss. McDouglas?"

She instantly knew where this was heading. Robbie and Drey immediately reacted as well; Robbie shifted uncomfortably and Drey narrowed her eyes. Cara hid her discomfort by laughing. "No, Professor, can't say that I am." She smiled meekly. "I'm actually an awful dancer."

"You?" Lockhart said doubtfully. "I find that hard to believe, since you seem to be an expert at everything else." He smiled charmingly.

She laughed again to hide her discomfort. He was once again not-so-subtly flirting with her. In front of witnesses, too. He either thought them too dense to not realize his flirtations, or he was too confident to care. Both, probably. "You flatter me much, sir. Though I may excel in some studies, I can hardly call myself an expert at anything."

"You're too humble for your own good, m'dear," he reprimanded playfully, waggling a finger at her. "You are a bright young woman, as myself and your friends can attest to." He glanced encouragingly at her friends. Robbie nodded and smiled stiffly, but Drey's expression was stoic as usual.

"Actually, Professor, I have to agree with Car on this one." The Slytherin's response surprised everyone. "When it comes to dancing, she's got worse hand-eye coordination than a troll."

Cara glared at her friend. It took her a moment to realize that the insult may have been meant to aid her rather than assault her character; it was to make her seem less attractive to Lockhart. (Or maybe she was overthinking it and Drey was being her usual smartarse self.)

"Is that a way to speak about your friend, Miss. LaRouche?" Lockhart scolded. "You should be supporting her, not bringing her down!"

Drey shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm just doing my duty as an honest friend, sir. No reason to bring up her hopes and have them crashing down on her in embarrassment when she tries to impress Wood with her supposed dance skills."

The mention of Wood caused Lockhart to twitch in irritation. Drey, in turn, smirked. The smirk was quickly replaced by a scowl when her plan backfired on her. Lockhart, instead of getting irritated and changing the subject, took this as an opportunity to offer Cara,

"Well, if you ever need advice on ballroom dancing, I would be more than happy to lend a hand – literally and figuratively." Thinking himself funny and clever, he smiled expectantly at the students, but to his disappointment none of them laughed. He quickly tried to make a recovery. "I did ballroom competitively until I was sixteen."

The students pondered the truth of his statement. He was quite Posh, after all, so it wouldn't be much of a surprise if it were true. On the other hand, he may have been lying at a (failed) attempt to impress Cara.

"If you're going to teach Car, Professor, I'd love to learn too," Drey quipped before Cara could politely decline. She smiled tightly. Cara raised her eyebrows in surprise and then tried to hide her pleased smile. It was Drey's attempt at intervening between Cara and Wood by being a third wheel. She didn't actually give a rat's arse about ballroom dancing (in fact, she was very well-versed in it).

Lockhart was growing more annoyed by the minute. These damn friends of hers always had to impede on their bonding. "You never struck me as the ballroom dancing type, Miss. LaRouche," he replied coolly. There was an ugly fake smile on his full lips as he stared pointedly at her piercings and colored hair.

Drey's dark eyes lit up in anger. Robbie winced. An angry Drey was a rare and scary sight; she usually never cared enough about what people said or did to really get mad. This could only end badly. He was surprised, however, by the smoothness of her tone when she replied, "Looks can be deceiving." Though her tone revealed none of her anger, her eyes still blazed like a fire. "Just like you wouldn't expect me to enjoy 'girly' things upon first glance" – which she really didn't – "I wouldn't have expected you to be a Professor at first glance."

A chill silence fell. Robbie's eyes were wide in shock at Drey's brashness, while Cara bit down on the inside of her cheek in horror. Neither would've ever expected Drey to talk to a Professor so bluntly. Sure, she might talk shite about them behind their backs, but never to their faces. She was far too clever to make such a silly mistake. And she never let her anger get the best of her.

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Lockhart questioned in barely contained fury. There was no fake bubbly smile or charming flip of the hair; his expression had darkened, and now rather than handsome he looked twisted, almost deranged. It was bad enough insulting a Professor, but it reached a whole new level when you insulted someone as vain as Lockhart.

Robbie, always one to smooth out disagreements, chuckled pacifyingly. "I think what Drey means, Professor, is–"

"I think Miss. LaRouche is capable of speaking for herself, Mr. Hilliard," Lockhart said without batting an eye. "As she has just demonstrated." His brows furrowed and his eyes bored into Drey's. Drey, to her credit, didn't seem frightened in the least. She stared back at Lockhart with the same ferocity he was staring at her. As she opened her mouth to no doubt make the rest of the year with Lockhart a living hell, Cara quickly interjected with a hurried laugh,

"Oh, Drey, why've you always gotta say things with that scowl on your face? Professor Lockhart will take things the wrong way!" She shook her head and tutted.

To Cara's concern, Lockhart's posture remained stiff and his tone was hard when he asked, "And how else am I supposed to interpret that comment other than as an insult and attack on my person?"

Cara had to think fast. She knew in this situation she would have to use her allure on him to her advantage, as well as reassure his ego. "It's because you don't know Drey as well as Robbie and I do, sir," sighed Cara, feeling like a dramatic actress. She placed a placating hand on his shoulder. She felt him relax under her touch, and let her hand linger for a moment. Robbie and Drey quickly saw through Cara's plan, and Drey felt like a complete idiot – this defeated the whole purpose of her trying to bring Lockhart's attention _away_ from Cara! "I think what she means to say is that she would've expected someone of your background and expertise to be in a higher ranked profession, if you will, like in the Ministry of Magic. Right, Drey?" She looked at her friend reproachfully like a mother would her child.

To Cara's annoyance, Drey, ever the inobedient child, did not play along. Instead she blinked and corrected, "Actually, I was going to say I would've expected him to be a model."

Robbie hurriedly hid his snort behind a violent cough. Lockhart did not realize that she was actually mocking him; he took her comment as a compliment. He grinned that dazzling grin of his and ran his fingers through his hair. He chuckled.

"You wouldn't be the first, m'dear – I've gotten many offers for modeling positions from agents – but, alas, my passion for teaching is more important to me than to use my gifted looks to my advantage." His tone was jovial now that the supposed misunderstanding had been cleared up. "Are you alright, Mr. Hilliard?" he added. Robbie's single cough had grown into a coughing fit to hide his fit of laughter. His face had turned red in the process. He held up a hand and wheezed,

"I'm a'right."

Cara resisted the urge to snicker alongside him. Drey's lips twitched. Luckily, before Lockhart could produce a "cure" for his coughs, they heard murmurs and the clomping of many footsteps from down the corridor of the Great Hall. Lockhart glanced at his pocket watch and cried out in surprise.

"Merlin's beard! It's five to eight!" He flew towards the back door in disarray. "I've got to prepare myself before I start the first session. You three hold them off until I return, will you?"

"Of course, sir," Robbie said dutifully, drawing himself to his full height. His red face was slowly returning to its usual shade. Lockhart waved a hasty goodbye before disappearing behind the door.

"What does he mean, he needs to 'prepare himself'?" scoffed Drey. "Does he think he can memorize the whole First Year spellbook in five minutes?" Cara laughed.

"Knowing him, I say he's fixing up his hair," Robbie snickered. "Though you seem to like it just the way it is, Drey," he teased, grinning at her. She rolled her eyes.

"I was trying to imply that all he's got going for him is his looks. I guess the fact that it went over his head goes to prove my point." Her expression quickly became apologetic, but annoyed, too. "You didn't have to do that, Car. I was _trying_ to get on his nerves, couldn't you tell?"

She sighed and shrugged. While she watched the students file in and glance around the Great Hall in wonder, she replied, "Yeah, I know. But I wasn't going to let you throw yourself under the Knight Bus for me, either." She smiled at her. "I appreciate the gesture, but there's a certain line you oughtn't cross, and you crossed it."

"Yeah, well there's a certain line _he_ shouldn't cross either," Drey grumbled, folding her arms across her chest. "And he crossed it with you long ago." She crinkled her nose in disgust.

Instead of replying, Cara stepped forward and began to greet the newcomers. They were mostly First through Third Years, but older students began to file in too.

"Where the hell is Wood?" huffed Robbie, craning his neck. "I specifically told him to arrive early."

Drey snorted. "What'd you expect? This is Wood we're talking about. We'll be lucky if he shows up at all."

Robbie frowned. "Do you really think so?" Drey shrugged. "I hope not. This is a perfect opportunity for him and Cara to make a blatant advertisement of their relationship in front of Lockhart…"

Drey sighed heavily. "Y'know, the kid has his heart in the game, but not his head." She paused. "Is that what they teach in Quidditch?"

Robbie, who was the only true fan of Quidditch out of their trio, rolled his eyes. "Of course not, you need to have both your heart and your head in the game if you wanna win. But we're the coaches in this game, so _we're_ the ones responsible for making sure their heads are in the game." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

Drey scowled. "I never signed up for this," she grunted.

"I'm afraid this is the price of friendship," joked Robbie, patting her on the shoulder. He grinned at her before he vanished away into the crowd.

"Sometimes I wonder if it's all worth it," she muttered, but she smiled as she said it.

She was surprised by how much the Great Hall had filled up – were people really that interested in learning about dueling? – and watched with amusement as many of the male students' faces fell when Lockhart swept into the room while the girls' faces lit up. Lockhart did his introduction in his usual dramatic flair, and she was pleasantly surprised and amused when Snape came strolling on the stage. And when Snape had thrown Lockhart back against the wall with the force of his _Expelliarmus,_ Drey was, for the first time, actually proud of her Head of House. While many of the female students seemed to sympathize Lockhart as he righted himself and launched into a quick explanation to save himself from embarrassment, Drey had to try her best not to burst out into laughter right then and there.

All amusement died from her face when Lockhart called Cara up for a student demonstration. He raved to the audience how Cara was among his star pupils and that he would be impressed if there was anyone brave enough to challenge her. Many Slytherins immediately launched their hands in the air to volunteer, but Lockhart's attention was drawn to the entrance of the Great Hall. He called out, "Mr. Wood! How kind of you to join us! Would you like to be Miss. McDouglas's opponent in our demonstration?"

Every head turned to see Wood hurriedly dashing into the Great Hall with his necktie askew and ink plastered on his cheek. Robbie put a hand to his face and groaned. Drey wasn't sure whether to roll her eyes or laugh mockingly.

Wood halted unsurely and blinked tiredly. "Erm…aye, Professor?" He didn't seem to have heard or understood the request.

"Quickly, now!" ushered Lockhart, motioning him forward. Wood, as if dazed, lumbered towards the stage, walking as if he were drunk (though it was actually because he'd just woken up).

Snape frowned in disapproval. "Surely we shouldn't pit these two against each other?" He raised his eyebrows meaningfully, even while Wood climbed up the stage.

Lockhart blinked innocently. "And why ever not?" His smile appeared pure and devoid of ill-intent.

Snape, not one to admit he was in on the school gossip, said instead, "How about one of my students?" He glanced around the room, searching for a worthy opponent. He knew his students were bloodthirsty and would've loved for the chance to get back at the Headgirl who had no doubt given them detentions some point in their school careers, but Lockhart was not having it.

"I think it's best we teach Mr. Wood a lesson not to arrive to events late – poorly groomed and half-awake." He smiled cheekily at Wood, who gritted his teeth. He had finally made his way to the stage and was now standing opposite Cara and Lockhart, besides Snape.

Snape, resigned to the fact that Wood would be a part of the demonstration, wanted to at least humiliate him in some way. "I see you were working on your Potions homework," he said snidely, reading the ink on Wood's face. "You thought you could learn the material best by sleeping on it?"

"Only for Potions, Professor," Wood replied cheekily, half-grinning. He wiped the ink off his face with his sleeve. Snape glowered at him.

"I ought to take ten points off your House for your cheek, boy."

"You mean for having ink on my cheek, sir?" Wood replied innocently. "I don't really think that's an excusable reason to take off points. Of course, I could always confirm with Professor McGonagall, if you'd like." His cheeky grin was even wider now. Snape had half a mind to swipe it off his face.

"That's enough talking strategy over there," Lockhart called before Snape could vehemently threaten the Quidditch Captain. "The students are getting restless and would like to watch the demonstration." He grinned and winked at the audience. The girls sighed dreamily.

"Very well," sneered Snape, turning his ugly expression towards Lockhart. "I tire of all this talk. Let the wands speak for themselves." A few Slytherins roared and clamped their feet in agreement; Snape smirked at them.

"Since you weren't here to listen to the rules, Mr. Wood, let me repeat them briefly." Wood's eyes hardened at Lockhart's mocking tone. "The purpose of this duel is to _disarm_ one another. Although, of course," he added, as if it was an afterthought, "it may be beneficial to the younger students to see how the upperclassmen handle themselves in a duel…"

It was an open invitation to duel without mercy, and both Cara and Wood were surprised by it. Snape, too, raised his brows, but said nothing.

"The first rule of engagement is to bow to your opponent." Cara and Wood stepped forward and bowed to each other. When they both straightened up, Cara grinned at him, a gleam in her eyes. It was in this instance he realized that she was going to take Lockhart's invitation to duel mercilessly to her advantage. But of course. She was fiercely competitive and hated losing, plus she loved to show off her skills; what better opportunity to inflate her sense of self-worth than by by defeating the impregnable Gryffindor Quidditch Captain in front of half the school? But the lass was underestimating him. Though he wasn't competitive when it came to academics, he too had an aggressively competitive personality. He never backed down from a challenge. The fact that she was the better spellcaster did not nothing to deter him; if anything, it only fueled his fire to fight even more fiercely. He smirked at her and tightened the grip on his wand.

"And on the count of three, the duel begins!" Lockhart sounded like an overexcited referee. Cara crouched over slightly in a defensive position, her wand aloft. Wood took an offensive position, extending his wand like a sword. "One…two…" Lockhart stepped back and threw down his arm. "Three!"

Wood was quick to make the first move. Lockhart had barely finished speaking when he shouted, _"Flipendo!"_ Cara dodged the spell easily, and returned the favor with, _"Locomotor Mortis!"_

 _"Protego!"_

 _"Stupefy!"_

He barely dodged her spell after his shield had disappeared; the red spell hit the stage floor with a fiery sizzle. She grinned at him, looking very tempted to taunt him, but only resisted because of the large crowd they were in front of. Wood, however, had no qualms.

"Promise me something, love," he called to her, grinning roguishly. She raised an eyebrow questioningly, her lips curved up in half-amusement, half-curiosity. "That after I win this duel you won't break up with me."

The crowd laughed, and Cara did too. Lockhart twitched but smiled tightly. "Oh, darling," Cara replied sympathetically, placing a hand on her chest. She smiled sweetly. "You needn't worry about that…because I'll be the one winning this duel." Her eyes glinted mischievously.

Wood sighed and shook his head. "Don't say I didn't warn you." He flourished his wand and surprised her with a silent spell, sending a volley of purple spells her way. She blocked the first two quickly and narrowly avoided the third, only to quickly block his next set of spells. The room fell silent; the real battle had begun. The students watched in awe as the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor went at it. To their surprise, it was Wood constantly making the offensive spells, while Cara struggled to defend herself. They, like Wood, didn't realize that this was her strategy but instead thought that Wood was besting her.

So it came to a surprise to everyone when she lifted her wand and sent an army of flying arrows towards Wood. He quickly summoned a large shield charm, but in his effort was prone to Cara's next attack; he cried out when ropes flew out at him and bound him hostage.

The whole Hall held their breath. Cara smirked smugly as she skipped over to Wood, staring down at him with amusement dancing in her eyes and a gleeful smile itching across her lips. He glared at her as he struggled against his ropes. His wand was rendered useless, as he could not move his hand.

"Don't be too disappointed, _love_ ," she purred, and he was surprised by how sultry her tone was, even though she was only speaking in such a tone to be mocking. "After all, this means we're not breaking up." She laughed and easily plucked his wand from his hand. Then she stood up and turned towards Lockhart, who had watched her final performance with his mouth ajar.

With a cheeky grin, she said, "I disarmed him, Professor."

There was a second of silence before the Great Hall burst out into shouts, laughter, and applause. George and Fred Weasley sullenly handed over two Knuts each to Lee Jordan, while Hermione Granger threatened to tell Percy that they had been betting. ("Just because Percy's not here doesn't mean I won't report you to him!")

"Show off," Wood muttered to Cara when she flourished her wand over him and rendered the ropes limp. He dusted himself off indignantly and stood. Despite the fact that she had just single-handedly made a mockery and fool of him, he acted with surprising dignity. It wouldn't have been so had the roles been reversed.

Cara did not recognize the fact that her last move had been a blow to his character; she'd only meant it in good fun. "Sore loser," she countered with a cocky grin.

He rolled his eyes but smiled good-naturedly. "Had our roles been reversed, McDouglas," he said lightly, pulling her in close and wrapping an arm around her shoulder (to which the crowd whooped), "you would be having a meltdown right about now."

Her cheeks flushed, and he wondered if it was because of their proximity or because of his snide remark. "I would not!" she replied sharply, glaring at him. She actually looked rather charming – her brows furrowed, her button nose held high in the air, her cheeks flushed red with indignity. Who knew McDouglas could sometimes look cute when she was mad? "You're the one who always cries for a whole week after losing a Quidditch game!"

Wood pursed his lips. "That's another story," he said. "You can't compare dueling to Quidditch."

"Well, of course not," she replied sardonically, rolling her eyes. "You actually need skills in order to be a successful dueler; for Quidditch, all you need to know how to do is bonk people."

"Oh?" Wood, instead of angrily yelling at her for her speaking ill of his revered sport as he was wont to do, said instead, "If you think it's so easy, how about you show me your skills on the pitch sometime, hmm?" His eyes gleamed with mischief.

She scoffed and dismissed the notion. "I have better things to do with my time."

"That just sounds like an excuse to me, love." He grinned, wondering if she would take the bait.

She opened her mouth to retort, then paused and seemed to think better of it. She held her chin up all snootily and said, "Fine, y'know what? I'll show you that I can play that damn game with my eyes closed, and finally prove to you that that game is utterly useless. That'll shut your ruddy mouth once and for all."

Now she had insulted his passion twice – he opened his mouth to fiercely protest, but Lockhart popped up between them, wrapping an around each of them. Wood had half a mind to shrug him off, but then thought better of it. He grimaced at the contact and scowled deeply while Cara fidgeted. He softened upon seeing her uncomfortable, and wondered what kind of punishment he would receive if he twisted a Professor's arm. He never got a chance to test it out, however, as Lockhart released them and began to speak.

"Well done, Miss. McDouglas, Mr. Wood!" He clamped a hand heartily on each of their shoulders. Wood's lips curled at the sight of the manicured fingers. "It was a close match – you both dueled very valiantly." He smiled at them. "Though, of course," he added conspiratorially to Cara, smart enough not to wink at her in front of so many people, "I don't think anybody was surprised that you were the winner."

Wood was impressed by McDouglas's acting abilities; she smiled shyly as if embarrassed, but in truth she was very cocky about her win. Then he decided to divert Lockhart's attention by asking,

"And what d'you mean by that, Professor?" He frowned innocently. "Haven't you got any faith in me?" Cara's lips twitched in amusement.

"Of course I do," Lockhart replied pacifyingly. He did not even try to sound genuine. "But Miss. McDouglas does have another year of schooling on you; it was inevitable she would defeat you." He patted him sympathetically. "Don't be too hard on yourself."

Wood scowled at the condescending tone and had half a mind to tell Lockhart that, despite the fact that the man had ten years of additional experience on him, Wood could defeat him at a duel any day of the week. There was more to your spellwork than just experience.

Lockhart returned his attention to the waiting crowd. "Everybody give Mr. Wood and Miss. McDouglas a round of applause for their daring demonstration!" He clapped loudly while the students followed suit. Wood, used to such behavior on the Quidditch pitch, didn't flinch. Cara, although used to praise from professors and students alike, was not accustomed to being applauded by a crowd; she smiled unsurely and shifted her feet. Lockhart then instructed the students to get into pairs and begin practicing with one another. "Remember!" he chirped. "Disarm only! I don't want to be sending any of you over to the Hospital Wing – Madam Pomfrey would have my head!"

They paired themselves up and Snape sulked about them. Lockhart suggested to Cara and Wood that they walk around and mentor the younger students. Wood grimaced – hadn't he done enough already? – but Cara eagerly nodded her head.

"How about you and I guide the students together, Miss. McDouglas?" Lockhart suggested cheerily. Nothing in his request sounded ill-intentioned, but both Cara and Wood knew it was Lockhart's strategy in keeping her to himself. "You can help Professor Snape, Mr. Wood." Wood crinkled his nose and glanced down at the Potions Professor, who was leering over the students like an overgrown bat.

"I don't think Professor Snape would appreciate my company, sir," Wood countered. "Besides," he added, casting what he hoped was a lovesick look towards Cara, "you wouldn't separate us, would you, Professor?"

Cara, catching on quickly, smiled and took his hand in her own.

Lockhart's expression stiffened, but he quickly smiled congenially. His eyes, however, still burned with anger. "Ah, but of course! It's precisely because of your relationship I must separate you." Both students frowned. "Neither of you would be able to put forth quality effort because you would be too busy ogling over one another!" He tutted and shook his head. "Trust me, it's what's best for you both."

Wood resisted the urge to snort and Cara tried not to roll her eyes. She opened her mouth to retort his logic (because then why would he have allowed them to duel each other?) but thought better of it. It would be easiest to just play along. There was no need to squander over so small a request. So she sucked up her pride, smiled, and shrugged.

"Very well, Professor," she said amiably. She made the point, however, to turn to Wood and say, "I'm sure Professor Snape would appreciate your support, love. It is so sweet of you to help out." She batted her eyes at him all lovingly, and he had to bite back the urge to laugh.

He grinned back at her and winked. "Likewise, love." He squeezed her hand. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Yes, yes," Lockhart said impatiently. "Quickly now, the students are getting rather rowdy–"

There was the sound of an explosion and the smell of smoke. There were bursts of laughter as students pointed at the soot-covered Seamus Finnigan sprawled out on the floor, looking dazed and confused.

"Oh, not again," Lockhart sighed. He hurried down towards the source of the commotion.

"Looks like your Irish brethren needs your assistance, lass!" Wood barked with laughter and playfully shoved Cara. "You best hurry, else who knows what Lockhart'll do to him?!"

"This is no joke, Wood!" she replied angrily. "He could be seriously injured!" Offended that he would laugh at another student's misery and worried about the poor lad, she dashed down to go assist him and Lockhart without another word.

"Oi, no need to get so angry, McDouglas!" Wood called after her. "This happens practically every night in the Common Room!" He sighed and shook his head. The girl worried too much and took things too seriously. The lad had just set himself on fire; what was the big deal?

By the time he descended down the stairs, the commotion had subsided and the students had returned to trying out their _Expelliarmus_ es on each other. Instead of heading towards Snape like he'd been directed to, Wood headed in the direction of his friends. Fred and George were battling, Jordan and Alicia, Katie and Angela. He was surprised by their turnout. He quickly understood the reasoning, however, when the trio of females greeted him by saying,

"Oh, didn't Professor Lockhart put up a great fight?" Katie sighed dreamily.

"He looked so admirable in his dueling robes...but I bet he looks even better with 'em off..." Alicia's lips curled upwards in a naughty smirk. Jordan scowled.

"Good-looking, yeah," agreed Angela, "but definitely not a great dueler." The boys hollered their approval. Angela was the most level-headed and objective of the three girls. Katie voiced her disapproval, claiming that it had all been for show, while Alicia said she could care less about his spellwork, as it was his wandwork that interested her.

"What do you mean?" frowned Katie, ever the innocent one. "They're the same thing!"

She took one look at Alicia's sly grin and flushed a crimson red. "Alicia!" she chided. She leaned in close and hissed, "That's a _Professor_ you're talking about! You need to watch what you say!"

Alicia shrugged nonchalantly but didn't reply, returning her attention to Jordan across the hall from her. Since he was distracted by trying to listen into their conversation, she easily disarmed him with a swish of her wand. He protested and they quickly squandered.

"You owe me two Knuts, Wood," George sighed, shaking his head at the Quidditch Captain, who had been watching Jordan and Alicia bemusedly.

Wood frowned. "What? Why?"

"You owe _each_ of us two Knuts, actually," chimed Fred from across the floor. "For losing to McDouglas." He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth disappointingly. "We had hope in you, mate, and acted as loyal friends. But you let us down." He shook his head.

"Guess we shouldn't be too surprised, though," George added cheekily, grinning, "since our Captain loves letting down his team." He easily avoided the swing Wood playfully sent his way.

"I purposefully lost to her, yah dunces," joked Wood. "I was being chivalrous."

Alicia snorted loudly. "You? Chivalrous? Yeah, and I'm the Minister of Magic." She rolled her eyes.

"She's right, y'know," snickered Fred. "There's no such thing as a chivalrous Scot."

"You would know," joked Wood, "yah Posh Englishman."

"Does this sound Posh to you?" Fred said in a Cockney accent, tilting his head to the side and bulging his eyes. They all laughed.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Hall, Cara was teaching Neville how to shield himself. (She had done this after scolding a pair of Slytherin Third Years who had been hexing the poor lad.) Lockhart had been heading towards Harry Potter when he noticed the Seventh Year kneeled down beside the Second Year. He slowed to a stop and watched the endearing interaction.

"The movement of your wand is just as important as the spell itself," Cara was saying. "Whenever you cast a defensive spell, you need to think about how you're reaching out to protect yourself; that you're trying to form a barrier between you and the spell. See here?" She lifted her arm at a 60-degree angle. "I look as if I'm trying to form a shield in front of me, yeah? I can't stab my wand forth like a sword to make the shape of a shield, can I?"

Longbottom, surprisingly, looked at ease. Lockhart had expected him to be nervous. "Like this?" He lifted his small arm so that it was parallel to hers.

She grinned and nodded encouragingly. "Exactly! You're learning fast, Neville!"

He flushed and ducked his head.

"Longbottom, a fast learner?" Snape had also joined the watch party. He was staring down at the two students with his lips curled in disdain. "I never thought I would hear those words used in the same sentence."

Lockhart was surprised by the way Cara's face grew tight. She placed a hand on Neville's shoulder protectively. The Gryffindor's face had dropped and turned white in fear. "Perhaps because you never give him the proper chance to show you, Professor," she replied coolly, rising to her feet. Strange how threatening she could look while simultaneously being respectful. She smiled at him sweetly, yet there was something sinister in it. "He may surprise you."

"I haven't time in an hour-long class to give him a 'proper chance'," sneered Snape. "Besides, if it takes him longer than an hour to learn a simple potion, I would call that a 'slow learner', not a quick learner. All you're doing is giving him false hopes, McDouglas, and he's only going to end up more disappointed than he would've had he known the truth." He stared down at her haughtily down his hooked nose. "This why I'm the Professor and you're not."

"Now, now," Lockhart said placatingly, putting his hands in the air. "Don't you think you're being a tad harsh, Severus? She's only trying to help out a fellow student." He smiled, trying to diffuse the tension.

He winced when Snape turned his hawk-like eyes on him. "As a matter of a fact, _Gilderoy_ ," he replied silkily, "I think I'm not being harsh enough. The truth may hurt momentarily, but in the long run it will be beneficial." His eyes flashed back towards the students. "Besides," he added ruthlessly, his thin lips curling in amusement, "somebody needs to knock her off her high Hippogriff."

Lockhart was annoyed by this last remark, and opened his mouth to fiercely defend his prized student. Cara, however, needed no help. She smiled amicably.

"Oh, don't you worry, sir," she said sweetly, "the Giant Squid will be there to catch me when I fall."

Neville's eyes were wide in shock at her remark; though it was a light retort, it was still talking back to _Snape_! He wasn't sure whether to be horrified or admire her bravery. Lockhart, on the other hand, though surprised by the wittiness of her retort, was impressed by her ability to remain charming and respectful, while simultaneously taking a subtle hit at the Professor.

Snape recognized her remark as an insult, but instead of commenting on it and taking points off Ravenclaw, said instead, "That is, if you don't fall in the lake first."

She was undeterred. "I can swim just fine."

Neville and Lockhart couldn't believe their eyes: Snape was actually _smirking_ in amusement, as if he were enjoying the banter! They both had expected him to force the Draught of Living Death down her throat by now. He opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted by a scream that penetrated the Hall.

Lockhart and Snape were quick to react; they raced towards the source of the sound. Cara squeezed Neville's shoulder reassuringly before she too took chase. She was met by Robbie at the scene. He was quick to explain the situation. (Not that she needed much explanation – she had immediately seen the ten-foot long snake slithering across the floor.)

"That student over there" – He pointed at a maliciously gleeful Slytherin with a head of platinum blonde hair – "conjured up that snake." As if on cue, the snake raised its head and let out a violent hiss.

Cara was instantly on guard. "Oi, back up, back up!" she demanded, shoving students behind herself protectively. For all she knew it could've been a poisonous snake. She briefly pondered how young a student knew the spell to conjure such a creature. "Give the Professors some room!"

Snape, to her irritation, appeared amused; he gave the blonde Slytherin an approving smirk. Leisurely he began to stroll towards the snake and began to taunt the students. "It's only a snake, there is no need to panic. Here, let me–"

Lockhart was not going to let Snape steal the spotlight. He hurriedly skidded into the middle of the makeshift circle of students. "Fear not, Professor Snape, I have traveled to the depths of the Amazon and have dealt with monsters ten times the size of this one!" He whipped out his wand and pointed it at the snake. Before Snape could react or protest, a bright yellow spell hit the snake. Girls screamed as it launched into the air and landed back on the floor with a terrifying thud. It released a furious hiss and quickly began to advance towards a young Hufflepuff.

Then there was a strange hissing sound. It wasn't coming from the snake. The snake, along with everyone else, turned towards the source of the sound. Potter was hissing at the snake, but it was strange because he didn't sound like he was mocking it or trying to divert its attention...it sounded as if it were _speaking_ to it. Even stranger, the snake seemed to be _listening_ to him. He forgot about his Hufflepuff target and slumped down on the floor, docile as a garden hose. Potter grinned in accomplishment, and looked at the Hufflepuff expectantly as if hoping to receive a word of thanks. Instead the Hufflepuff fell backwards and stuttered,

"What do you think you're playing at?!" He turned tail and ran out the Great Hall as if his life depended on it. Cara and Robbie looked at each other and nodded as if reading the other's mind; Robbie hurriedly went after the Hufflepuff while Cara stayed behind to further appraise the situation. Snape vanished away the snake with a simple swish of his wand (if only he'd done that earlier instead of wasting time to mock the students) and was watching Potter suspiciously. The whole Hall had grown deathly quiet and still. Cara didn't quite know what to make of it. What had just happened?

"C'mon, Car." She was surprised to find Drey on her right; she hadn't heard her approach. Shock was registered in her elegant features. "Use your Headgirl power."

Cara, despite her confusion, nodded. She was surprised that neither of the Professors had said anything to diffuse the tension. Where was Snape's snide remark and Lockhart's quick attempt to explain his lack of skill? "Alright, alright," she said loudly, clearing her throat. "It was just a snake, everyone. No need to worry. Quit your gaping and get back to dueling."

There was another moment of silence before the students reluctantly began to break apart from the scene, and as they did they exchanged whispers and fearful glances. They were all acting as if Potter had committed a horrendous crime. Potter, meanwhile, was dragged out the Great Hall by his friends. She frowned after them in confusion and turned to Drey. She appeared disturbed. She understood what Cara did not.

"What the hell was that?" Cara demanded.

Drey sighed and shook her head. Her earrings jingled at the movement. "I'll explain everything to you later. Though I won't really need to," she added darkly, "since by the end of the day the whole school will be talking about it." Her eyes glinted knowingly. "Let's just say that it may have something to do with the Chamber of Secrets..."


	8. Blizzard of Emotions

A violent gust of wind rattled against the snow-covered windows of the Prefects' meeting room, cutting into the still silence that had transpired after the Headboy and Headgirl had announced the latest news.

The last two days had been absolute madness. After the Dueling Club fiasco, the school had been wrought with rumors about Potter's snake-speaking abilities and possible connection to the founder of Slytherin. Those rumors had been quickly multiplied when Potter had been discovered leaning over the Petrified forms of Justin Finch-Fletchley (who, incidentally, was the Second Year Potter had rescued from the snake yesterday) and Gryffindor ghost Nearly Headless Nick (ghosts, to Cara's amazement and horror, could be Petrified as well). It was the third attack thus far, following Miss. Norris's and Colin Creevey's.

Dumbledore had called Cara and Robbie to his office for a private word immediately following the attack. It was essentially a reiteration of his conversation with Cara a month earlier, after Colin Creevey's Petrification. It was only upon Cara's persistence that he finally yielded that he may have had an idea about who or what was causing these attacks. That was not their concern, however, he said, as he and the other Professors were "working on it." Cara and Robbie – along with the rest of the Prefects – were tasked with continuing to "foster a safe and healthy environment in which every student feels secure in his person."

"How can you expect me to foster such an environment, Professor," Cara had said, trying to keep her voice steady, "when I myself do not feel safe?"

Dumbledore had evaded the question by outlining new safety measures he was implementing and was therefore placing Cara and Robbie in charge of actualizing. It was this information that Cara and Robbie had just relayed to their fellow Prefects, and they wondered why the room had grown tense in silence.

"…That's it?" Penelope Clearwater exclaimed in disbelief, raising her blonde brows. "That's all Dumbledore had to say?"

Cara and Robbie glanced at each other. "Yeah," sighed Cara. "He's not too keen on telling us who's the culprit behind these attacks." She tactically decided not to add that Dumbledore himself might not have known.

"I think we all know the answer to that one," said Fifth Year Ravenclaw Simon Dedworth, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

Sixth Year Slytherin Gemma Farley scoffed. "If you're referring to Potter, you're not Dedworth but dead _wrong_." She chortled at her own clever play on words. "No way a scrawny little Gryffindor like him could _ever_ be the heir of Slytheirn." She crinkled her nose as if the thought disgusted or offended her.

"Aye," agreed her fellow Slytherin Prefect, Cyril Meakin. "He's not even a pureblood."

Cedric Diggory's eyes flashed dangerously. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

Meakin was not frightened or bothered in the least. "Surely a descendant of Salazar Slytherin would be a pureblood – you cannot possibly imagine that any of his heirs would allow the bloodline to become…altered." He had wanted to say tainted, as everyone else had surmised, but had chosen his words carefully. He smirked.

"So maybe you're the one heading the attacks, then!" Fifth Year Gryffindor Damian Perris accused heatedly, jumping out of his seat. "Or any of you Slytherins, for that matter!" His dark eyes scanned the Slytherins in the room suspiciously, and they returned his gaze with cold glares and rude hand gestures.

Farley laughed sharply. "What, you think we Slytherins are the only purebloods in the school?" Her eyes gleamed winningly when Perris hesitated. "It could be Weasley, for all we know." She nodded her head towards the Sixth Year. He stiffened. She grinned wickedly at Perris, tilting her head to the right. "Perhaps your fellow Gryffindor is the one offing all your Muggleborn friends." Her eyes sparkled with mirth while Perris's burned with anger.

Clearwater sprung from her seat, her cheeks flushed red in anger and her eyes ablaze. "Percy would never do such a thing!" Percy looked at her, eyebrows raised in both surprise and gratitude.

"Then don't accuse any of us, either!" snapped Farley. Her eyes flashed dangerously like those of a snake set on its prey. "It's just as likely that myself, Meakin, or any other Slytherin would be leading the attacks as your snobby boyfriend or our dashing Quidditch celebrity." Diggory scowled darkly and opened his mouth to heatedly retort while Clearwater flushed crimson and muttered that Percy was not her boyfriend (but not without glancing curiously at him to see his reaction – to her disappointment he didn't even seem to have noticed Farley's snide comment).

"Alright, that's enough," Robbie said firmly, stepping into the center of the room. He and Cara had held back from interfering in the hopes that the Prefects would sort out the argument diplomatically amongst themselves. But it seemed that they had placed too much faith in their trusty retainers; the room was getting out of control, and it was time to restore order. "Farley's right." She grinned triumphantly, while everyone whom she'd been arguing with scowled or frowned. "Pointing fingers at each other isn't going to get us any closer to figuring out who – or what – is charging these attacks. It only serves to further divide us." Perris clenched his jaw while Meakin scoffed. "What we need to do at this crucial time is to come together as one Prefect unit – no matter what House or bloodline you're from – and ease our students' fears."

There was a brief silence while everyone had a moment with their thoughts.

"Well said, Robbie." Cara smiled in support at her peer and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Our duty as Prefects is to protect our students. We have to put on a brave face for them, regardless of our own fears and doubts." Her voice faltered. She quickly recovered from her moment of vulnerability when she cleared her throat and eyed her fellow Prefects with a wary and solemn expression. "And I'll not have anyone voicing or raising their personal suspicions towards any of our students." Her eyes fell firmly on Dedworth, who had implied that Potter was behind the attacks. "If I hear of or witness any sort of behavior, or encouragement of such behavior – including bullying – you will be immediately relieved of your Prefect duties." Her tone was one of finality.

She expected a sign of protest at such a firm and harsh rule (Robbie glanced at her in both apprehension and annoyance, as she had not conferred with him about this beforehand – though in her defense she had made it up on the spot) but to both her and Robbie's surprise there were no voices of objection. Instead, the room was dead silent.

It was Perris who broke the silence. "I'm sorry for accusing you, Meakin, Farley." He nodded at the two Slytherins as he addressed them. "All the Slytherins, for that matter." He smiled sheepishly and shrugged. "I believe everyone here knows that I speak before I think." A few appreciative chuckles went around the group. Even Farley managed a wry smirk. "I let my emotions get the best of me, and I apologize for that."

"No harm done," Meakin replied smoothly, nodding his acknowledgement. "Like Robbie said, we need to stick together and trust each other if we want to get through these…dark times." He smiled, and there was something indiscernibly sinister about it. If it bothered any of the other students, nobody spoke of it. Perhaps, they reasoned, Meakin just didn't know how to smile normally. He couldn't possibly be supportive of the attacks, could he?

"Hopefully these dark times will not last long," Robbie said, smiling sadly. He was relieved that Meakin and Perris had made amends. "But until the Professors get to the bottom of this, it's our continued responsibility to ensure the safety – both psychological and physical – of our students. If you ever see anything suspicious or out of the ordinary, make sure you and any students in the vicinity are evacuated and to report the problem to a Professor immediately."

The Prefects nodded their understanding.

Cara cleared her throat. "We can review and implement the latest safety standards after we get back from break. Unless anyone has anything else they would like to add, I think it's time we wrap this meeting up." She glanced around expectantly, but when nobody spoke up she smiled and nodded. "I'll need the handful of you who are staying here over break to stay behind for a few extra minutes with Robbie and I to review your additional responsibilities. Otherwise, enjoy your break! Happy holidays!"

The Prefects were relieved to be done with the meeting; they too feared what lurked in the corridors. They could only hope that Dumbledore would solve the issue over Christmas break. Eagerly they broke apart and shoved their way out the door, yelling "Happy Christmas!" to each other. The three Prefects residing at Hogwarts over break stayed behind to discuss their duties with Cara and Robbie. Soon enough they too were dismissed. Robbie left with them, leaving only Percy and Cara behind. Percy seemed uncomfortable, twiddling his fingers and looking past Cara at the blizzard outside.

She didn't seem to notice his behavior. She smiled tiredly at him and asked, "Ready for our patrol?"

~-x-~-x-~-x-~

"If they ever find an antidote to the Petrifications," Mordaunt shouted over the wind, "they better cure that damn cat of Filch's first. Seems like he's lost his bloody mind since it's gone under!"

"Guess all Filch needs is some pussy, huh?" Fred Weasley howled into laughter, elbowing Mordaunt in the side. Mordaunt, who may have normally laughed at such a joke, was too angry to put up with Fred's foolishness. His lips bleeding and his face red and raw from the wind, he responded by shoving Fred's face into the snow.

"Oi!" boomed a voice from somewhere below. "This is detention, not a field trip! Quit foolin' 'round and finish shoveling!"

Fred responded by tackling Mordaunt to the freshly shoveled ground. The two boys struggled with one another until a third figure, covered from head to toe and practically invisible in the whirlwind of snow, yanked them apart.

"Enough o' that!" a muffled Scottish voice shouted from behind the thick Gryffindor scarf. "At this rate, we'll be here all night!"

"With the rate it's snowing, yeah!" Mordant yelled back. He gestured around himself wildly. They stood at the Hogsmeade train station, where they were shoveling snow (the Muggle way) off the platform. Percy had not been able to oversee their detention, so he had left them in Filch's charge. Filch, ever since Miss. Norris's Petrification, had been on a power trip. His methods of detention had become truly merciless and unreasonable; the Weasley twins were convinced he was finally going to make use of the chains and shackles in his office, regardless of what Dumbledore said.

"Your first time doing physical labor, innit, Mordaunt?" jeered Fred. "Always have your mummy and daddy do all the work for you?"

"Our servants, actually," Mordaunt replied matter-of-factedly, wheeling on Fred. "You'd know nothing about that, would you, Weasel?" he sneered, baring his teeth and making his lips crack and bleed more. "As a matter of fact, you and all your freakish siblings _are_ the servants in your home; only reason your mother bred so many of you to begin with." He would've said more, but he cut himself off to dodge the fist Fred swung at him. He did not, however, manage to avoid Oliver's swing. It hit him square in the stomach and he doubled over in pain. When he didn't immediately get up, both Gryffindors looked at each other and nodded, believing that they had put Mordaunt in his place. They failed to notice him whip out his wand; by the time they did realize it, they were already flipping backwards through the air and landing face-first in the cold snow.

"Why I oughta–" Fred slipped on ice as he attempted to get up. His nose was bleeding and he struggled to fish his wand from his pocket with his numb fingers.

Oliver was still lying on the ground when a pair of large hands lifted him up and stood him up straight. He squinted through his snow-laden eyelashes at a familiar giant of a man.

"Alright there, Wood?" Hagrid's kindly black eyes looked down at him from behind his balaclava. Before Oliver could stutter out much of a response, Hagrid stomped off towards Fred and Mordaunt, putting an end to the duel before it began.

"But Hagrid," Fred (he was holding a handkerchief to his nose) was arguing as the three of them started marching back towards Oliver, "he said–"

Hagrid shook his head. "I don' want to hear it, George – erm, Fred. Just be glad I'm not issuing all o' yer another detention." He shivered and drew his mittened hands around himself. His mittens, Oliver noted bemusedly, were pink and had heart decorations. "It's only 'cause I feel bad that Filch is makin' yer lot shovel out in this weather that I'm even lettin' yer off the hook." When they reached Oliver, Hagrid gestured for him to follow them. They were heading back through Hogsmeade towards the castle.

"How considerate of you," grumbled Mordaunt, still disgruntled. Hagrid narrowed his eyes at him.

"I'd watch your tone, mister, unless yer want to be shoveling snow for the rest of winter!"

Mordaunt scowled darkly and shoved his hands in his pockets. Fred smirked winningly, but he too knew better than to make a smart quip. They passed the Three Broomsticks, and the door jingled as a customer exited.

"Professor Lockhart!" Hagrid said in surprise. Oliver scowled behind his muffler at the man who turned at the call of his name. He was dressed extravagantly as usual – his fur jacket flapped around his booted ankles and his head was protected by a matching fur hat. His hands, thankfully, were not covered by fur but with leather gloves. The outfit made him look like a Russian aristocrat.

"Hagrid." He sounded equally surprised. He eyed the three students curiously. "What're you doing out here in this awful weather?" He began to walk alongside them, pulling his fur coat closer to himself and grimacing against the wind.

"We were out shoveling the train station for the boys' detention," Hagrid replied, gesturing at them.

Lockhart raised his eyebrows. "My, I must say that's quite the punishment. What'd you boys do to deserve such a thing?"

"I didn't do anything wrong," huffed Fred indignantly, pursing his lips. "I did the school a favor by tying up Peeves and locking him in the broom closet. I wasn't even supposed to be in the same detention as them!" He pointed accusingly at Mordaunt and Oliver, as if it was their fault that their detentions had been consolidated.

"And what is it you two did, then?"

Mordaunt smirked slightly as he met Oliver's eye. "We had a bit of a…disagreement." Ah, such a sophisticated way to put it – a "disagreement" instead of a "row." Oliver smirked back.

"Just now?" Lockhart eyed Mordaunt's cracked lips and Fred's bloody nose. "It seems like you boys haven't learned your lesson yet."

"Oh, that was just an accident," lied Hagrid, waving Lockhart off. The three boys exchanged looks of surprise. "Don't worry, Professor, they paid their dues."

"I hope so," Lockhart replied gaily. "Otherwise you might have to serve some detention time with me!" He winked at them. Oliver grimaced, Fred laughed, and Mordaunt scoffed.

"So." Hagrid cleared his throat. They had made it through the village and were crossing the bridge. "What was your reason for braving the blizzard to get to Hogsmeade, Professor?"

Oliver did not like the mischievous twinkle in Lockhart's eye. "If you must know, my good man, I was enjoying some _quality_ time with Madam Rosmerta." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully, a grin threatening to break across his smug face.

"Oh…erm…" Hagrid's face was turning a vivid shade of red beneath his balaclava. He glanced conspicuously back at the three students. "Th-that's good to hear that you and Rosmerta are getting along…"

"Oh, yes," Lockhart practically purred, "we suit each other's needs _very_ well."

Mordaunt, Oliver, and Fred all exchanged incredulous looks. Fred and Mordaunt both leaned in towards Oliver, who was walking in the middle, and made two very different exclamations. Fred declared, "As soon I'm legal, I'm heading straight to the Three Broomsticks…we'll have to rename it the Four Broomsticks by the time I get there." Mordaunt hissed in exasperation, "Does he not realize that we understand what he's saying?"

Oliver was of a different mindset. If Lockhart was bragging about the fact that he'd gotten laid, he must not have realized who Oliver was because his face was hidden behind his muffler. There was no way he would admit to having sexual relations with a woman in front of Oliver, knowing that he could report such information to McDouglas. It would make Lockhart seem like he had low morals (which, Oliver thought with a chortle, he did).

He smirked and lowered his scarf from his face. "Glad to hear you enjoyed yourself, Professor," he said, feigning innocence. "McDouglas and I have had some fun times at the Three Broomsticks, too." His smirk widened, knowing full well what he was implying.

Lockhart whirled around towards Oliver, his eyes wide in horror. He promptly lost his balance and slipped on ice, falling on his back with a thud. Hagrid let out a shout of surprise and moved quickly to help the Professor up, while the students struggled to hold back their laughter. Oliver pulled his scarf back up so that Lockhart couldn't see his grin.

Operation Wronski Feint was finally taking off.

~-x-~x-~-x-~

"Percy, for the millionth time, I'm fine." Cara grabbed a hold of Percy's arms in exasperation. "If I didn't think I could handle this patrol, I would've had somebody cover it for me."

Percy's smile was a mix of admiration and amusement. He chuckled quietly and shook his head. "I know you too well, Cara. You take your duties seriously and see them through to the very end, no matter the cost. You wouldn't miss a patrol even if there was a troll in the dungeons." His eyes glittered with mirth, recalling the time she had bounded through the halls last Halloween in search the three missing Gryffindor students. (She had found them and an unconscious ten-foot troll in the girls' bathroom before calling for the Professors.)

She laughed. "Hey, if I recall correctly, you were patrolling that day too!"

"I simply led the students back to the Common Room," he replied modestly. "You, on the other hand, risked your life to go looking for the troublesome trio."

Cara smirked cockily but tried to play it off with a nonchalant shrug. "I wouldn't go so far as to say I risked my life…I mean, if three First Years could handle a full-grown troll, I think I would've been able to handle myself too if I'd been confronted with the beast face-to-face." She paused and added playfully, "After all, I can handle your twin brothers; a troll is nothing compared to them."

Percy raised his eyebrows in surprise at her quip. "You can say that again!" He laughed. "But that doesn't make your feat any less courageous." His smile softened. "You always put our students as your number one priority – so much so that maybe you sometimes forget to take care of yourself." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully, referring back to the argument they'd been having about her patrol tonight. After seeing how exhausted she was after the Prefect meeting, Percy had insisted she take the night off to rest. Cara had refused, however, and so it was that they'd been patrolling the halls for the past hour, arguing half the time about whether or not she ought to leave her shift early. "I only say that because I'm worried about you," he said hurriedly when she opened her mouth to fiercely retort. "I know that the past week has been madness for all of us, but even more so for you and Robbie…" He sighed and shook his head. "I just don't want to see you stretching yourself too thin, that's all."

She softened. Instead of being defensive like she normally would've been, she understood that Percy was only speaking out of concern for her wellbeing. "Thanks for looking out for me, Percy." She smiled genuinely. "You're a great friend." She was fully aware of the effect her words would have on him; she wasn't surprised when he flinched as if stung. She couldn't help but feel a little guilty, but she reasoned that it was best for them. He needed to know that she saw him as a friend. Nothing more.

Percy, however, surprised her when he replied, a tad bitingly, "And as your friend, I'm concerned about what's going on between you and Wood."

Cara had never expected Percy to be so bold. She'd been expecting to him wilt like a flower at her rejection and grow silent. Instead, he pierced her with cunning eyes that tried to read her own. She blinked at him before she slowly asked, "What do you mean?"

Percy huffed in irritation. "You know exactly what I mean, Cara." When she didn't reply, he continued to barge ahead, his cheeks reddening as he rattled off all the reasons why Cara and Wood weren't a good match – starting with the fact that they had loathed each other for the past six years. He was breathless when he ended his rant with a final, "I mean, you can't possibly expect me to believe that you two…" He grasped at the air to find the right words. " _Fell_ for each other!"

"Of course I expect you to believe that," Cara said curtly, folding her arms across her chest. She lifted her chin defiantly. "Because it's the truth."

Percy's eye twitched. "It can't be the truth, because it makes no logical sense."

That was one of the reasons she herself had been hesitant on moving forward with the pretend relationship. She struggled to come up with a retort. Her eyes lit up when she thought of a good one. Knowing she had to act the part too, she softened her voice. "That's because feelings aren't logical, Percy."

"…I'd know all about that," he murmured even softer, his eyes taking in every fragment of her freckled face. He reached out and took her hand in his. She knew she should've pulled back, but pity and guilt stayed her hand. "Cara." He spoke her name like it was a secret. He took a step towards her, closing the small distance between them. Her breath hitched, and she cursed herself for it, knowing he would misinterpret her nervousness as excitement. "I care about you. A lot. Probably more than anyone else in this school." She glanced away, as if looking away would block out his words and the feelings entwined with them. "And I sure as hell care about you more than Wood has ever – or ever will – care for you." With shaky fingers he took her chin and gently turned her face towards him. Reluctantly she met his gaze. She was surprised by the strange combination of gentleness and courage she saw burning in his hazel eyes. "Yet why is it you're in a relationship with him and not me?" His eyes searched hers imploringly for an answer.

Before she could gently release herself from his grip and break it to him that she didn't feel about him that way, she was interrupted by a surprised, "Oh!" from down the hall. They both turned in horror to see Lockhart, Fred, Wood, and Mordaunt frozen on the other end of the hall. Cara practically flew back three feet, jumping away from Percy as if burned. Percy's reaction was the opposite; he stood frozen in shock, as if caught in the act of something truly scandalous. A long and awkward silence followed.

Lockhart cleared his throat and straightened his robes. "I, erm…hope we weren't interrupting anything." He coughed awkwardly and glanced discreetly at Wood to observe his reaction. He seemed surprised, but not upset. Amused, if anything.

"Of course not, sir." Cara had finally regained her composure. She smoothed out her hair and robes. "Percy and I were just…" Her mouth went dry as her scattered mind struggled to come up with a reasonable excuse. She glanced at Percy helplessly.

"…Checking each other for any signs of frostbite," Percy slowly completed her sentence. She tried not to grimace at his heinous lie. She hadn't even been outside! "You can never be too safe in this weather."

They all looked unconvinced. Then Fred grinned cheekily.

"Check mine too, will yah, McDouglas?" There was a wicked glint in his eyes. "Though my concern is further south…"

Percy's face flushed red and he stepped forward angrily, a scolding on the tip of his tongue, when Oliver (quite literally) beat him to it by punching Fred on the arm. "Oi!" he said, half-laughing, half-growling. "Treat my girl with some respect, will yah? Another comment like that, and I'll take your place as Beater and beat you senseless." His eyes sparkled with amusement and held none of the hostility of his words.

"Mr. Wood!" admonished Lockhart with a scandalized gasp. "Have you truly learned nothing from your detention about not invoking violence?!" Though his voice was stern, his eyes twinkled with good humor. He too hadn't appreciated Fred's comment and rather approved of Wood's threat.

Cara's ears perked up at "detention" like a Niffler would at the clink of jewelry. "Wait a second." She put up a hand and placed the other on her hip. Her eyebrows furrowed. "What's this about detention and violence?"

Wood grimaced. Shite.

Mordaunt snickered and nudged Wood in the side. "Now you're in serious trouble." Seeing that Mordaunt was the reason he'd ended up in detention to begin with, it took all of Wood's willpower to stop himself from snapping the Slytherin's arm in half.

"What, you didn't tell her about your fight and consequent three-week detention?" Percy sneered, reveling in the fact that Wood had not only broken school rule but had also failed to inform his rule-abiding girlfriend.

"Must've slipped my mind," Wood replied nonchalantly, picking at his nails. "We don't get much a chance to talk, y'see, since whenever we get any alone time we let our hands do all the talk–"

"Ahem!" Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and clapped his hands. He wore a dizzy smile on his face while his eyes were mad and wild. Wood ducked his head to hide his smirk. He'd made such sexual implications fully aware of Lockhart's presence; in fact, he'd done it precisely _because_ of Lockhart's presence. Now he was under the impression that he and Cara were sexually involved as well (if he hadn't already assumed that before). He also knew that his false words would affect Percy; he dared a glance at his fellow Gryffindor, and wasn't surprised to see the angry flush on his neck and ears. "If I may remind you all, it's past curfew and I've yet to escort you back to your Common Rooms. Let's get a move on, shall we?"

"So soon?" wailed a familiar voice from the windows. "The fun was just getting started!" Everybody turned in surprise to see Peeves sitting on a windowsill with his legs crossed and a bowl of Popping Corn in his hands. His eyes glinted mischievously.

"Peeves!" Cara was horrified. "How much did you…?"

"Everything!" The poltergeist threw his bowl of Popping Corn in the air and squealed gleefully. "See, I _can_ be quiet, as you always request me to be, Madam Headbitch." He rose and bowed mockingly at Cara, whose face contorted in anger.

"Peeves," Percy called in warning, his eye twitching irritably, "What did I say about calling Cara that?"

"To never call her that again!" Peeves said in a mock Posh accent, standing up straight and tilting his head back and forth in a terrible impersonation of Percy. The redhead glowered. "But you've forgotten, Mr. Perfect Prefect, that you may command the students of this hall but you shall never have command over me!" As if to demonstrate this, he swooped down low and blew a raspberry at Percy. The Prefect clenched his teeth and breathed heavily through his nose, trying to contain himself.

"He may not, but _I_ certainly do," Lockhart said sternly, marching up to the poltergeist and placing his hands on his hips. "If you don't apologize to Miss. McDouglas and take your leave within the next ten seconds, I'll–"

"You'll what?" snickered Peeves. "Release your pixies on me?" He didn't seem to care in the slightest that he had just offended a Professor. Rather, he seemed to take pride in it.

Lockhart's mouth dropped open as his face flushed in embarrassment. The students glanced at each other knowingly. They may not have been there to witness it, but they'd heard all about the Cornish blue pixie disaster.

"That's enough," snapped Cara when she realized that Lockhart was too busy reliving horrible memories to speak. "Get a move on, Peeves. Else next time I might forget about finding you in the broom closet." She smirked slightly at Fred, who raised his eyebrows in surprise before he bowed his head in humble acknowledgement.

This time it was Peeves who flushed red. He glared murderously at Fred, who grinned easily and winked, before he disappeared from sight, muttering underneath his breath that this was why he called Cara the Headbitch.

She cleared her throat. "Alright," she muttered, "now that that's all cleared up…how about we escort you lot back to your Common Rooms and let the Professor get some sleep?" All she really wanted was to be done with this all this malarkey. She knew in the back of her mind that she ought to clear things up with Percy before leaving for Christmas break, but…a part of her wanted her to be irresponsible, and another part of her was scared. She'd never rejected a boy before. Was there a proper...method to it? She also felt guilty knowing that she would be the reason for his broken heart. She was also aware, however, that dragging it out would only make it hurt more for him and more difficult for her.

Lockhart smiled easily. "Very well. It's only because I trust you and your judgement, Miss. McDouglas, that I feel comfortable leaving them in your care." She smiled and nodded. A flicker of annoyance and exasperation passed over Wood's face. "If I don't see any of you before you leave for break, have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!" The students wished him the same and watched him bound away.

"As amusing as this mini soap opera has been," Mordaunt said, gesturing at Cara, Percy, and Wood, "I still have loads to pack before I leave for the Caribbean. If you'll excuse me…" He made to duck past, but Cara grasped onto his wrist.

"Hold up there, mate," she said sternly. "New safety rule: no student can wander the halls alone."

He frowned. "But I'm pureblood." Cara blinked at him. She hadn't considered that. Since only the Muggleborns were being targeted, purebloods were safe from the attacks. No _non-_ pureblood could walk the halls alone…perhaps if they ensured that at least one pureblood – or even a half-blood, if that wasn't possible – was included in a cluster of students that would reduce the likelihood of the attacks. As she contemplated this strategy, Mordaunt shook himself from her grip and took off, muttering something about Ravenclaws.

Fred cleared his throat. "I think Wood and I'll head back ourselves, then," he said, glancing pointedly at Wood. "Perce, you should escort McDouglas back to her Common Room."

"Hold up," Percy started, "I see what you're doing here." He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, believing that his brother was lying and planning on wreaking some kind of havoc on the school.

Fred sighed and rolled his eyes impatiently. "What I'm doing you is a favor," he hissed in Percy's ear. He nodded meaningfully towards Cara. Percy raised his brows in surprise by his brother's illusory consideration, but then he hesitated unsurely. "Really," Fred said genuinely, meeting his eye. "You two clearly have some things you need to hash out." He paused and glanced at Wood, who was pretending that he wasn't overhearing the conversation. "The three of you, really…but I feel like that might get a bit messy."

Wood snorted. Percy would've liked to slap him.

Percy sighed and shook his head. He finally conceded, "Alright. But if I don't find the two of you in your rooms when I get back…!" He shook a finger threateningly.

Fred patted Percy on the head. "Don't worry, Perce. I think we're both too exhausted to pull anything on you tonight." He waved goodbye and tugged Wood alongside him. Wood sent Cara a 'you-better-get-that-shite-figured-out' look before disappearing around the corner.

"You were right, Percy," Cara sighed as she led the way towards the Ravenclaw Tower. "I should've taken the night off."

* * *

 _I know, I know, it's been over three months since I posted. By the time I actually got around to writing this chapter, I had trouble piecing it together. I wrote and rewrote it until I felt it flowed well and made sense. (And I still feel like it drags at the end.) Usually the chapters come really easily to me, so I don't know why I struggled so much with this one. The Percy/Cara moment has been the hardest moment for me to write - I struggled keeping both of them in-character - and as you may have noticed I keep pushing their whole dilemma back. When I originally began this story, the whole thing with Percy was supposed to be minuscule; it wasn't intended to be more than a childish crush. But Percy's not a kid anymore and he's been playing a bigger role in this story than I had originally intended.  
_

 _Also, completely irrelevant to the chapter and story, but today was the first day of my last semester of college...! The beginning of the end, you guys. *Sniff* Since (I think) the majority of you are either in middle school or high school, you might be wondering why I'm not jumping up and down excitedly. That's because I'm ready to be done with school but I'm definitely not ready for the real world and to be an adult! DX  
_

 _As always, a big thank you to all my readers and reviewers, past present and future!_


	9. A Very Scottish Christmas

It was one of the few times of the year that the Hogwarts castle was as quiet and serene as the land it stood on. The grounds were covered with snow, unblemished but for a few paw prints here and there. The castle itself was blanketed with a sheet of the white powder while large icicles hung precariously from windowsills. It was a picturesque sight.

The moment of peaceful serenity was shattered when a group of Gryffindors – their faces rubbed raw and their robes damp – stumbled their way through the entranceway. Laughter filled the halls, causing the Christmas decorations strewn along the walls to twinkle in merriment.

"You cheated!" Ron was saying indignantly, a sour scowl upon his face. George laughed while Fred rolled his eyes impatiently.

"Excuses excuses," George tutted, waggling a finger at his younger brother. "You're just being a sore loser. Like usual."

"We made it clear from the beginning that it would a strictly no-magic zone," Ron argued, ignoring George. "Yet you two still decided to enchant your snowballs!"

"A no-magic zone is a no-fun zone," whined Fred.

"So you're not denying you cheated then?" Harry challenged, raising a brow.

The twins glanced at each other and shrugged unabashedly. "I wouldn't say we _cheated_ per say..." Fred grinned. "More like improvised."

Ron pointed a finger accusingly at them. "I demand a rematch!"

Harry shook his head and laughed. Fred and George were, of course, up for the challenge, but the Boy Who Lived was ready to shrug off his damp robes and jump into a hot bath. "Maybe another time," he said appeasingly. "Doesn't seem like the snow is going away anytime soon."

The Weasleys grudgingly agreed and the four boys resumed their trek to the Common Room. Hermione was right where they'd left her, curled up by the fire reading _Ghadding with Ghouls._ She looked up as the portrait swung shut behind them.

Ron crinkled his nose. "Don't know why you're still reading that dreadful book." He grimaced at Lockhart's picture, which grinned winningly at him from the back of Hermione's book.

"We start this the first week of second term!" Hermione huffed defensively. "I'm reading ahead now while we have the time."

"I know, I know," sighed Ron, kicking off his soaked boots. "I just don't understand how you haven't fallen asleep outta boredom by now."

"The pictures inside probably keep her on her toes," snickered Fred, referencing to the pictures Lockhart included in all his books, randomly interspersed throughout (no doubt to keep the reader engaged). He nudged Ron in the side. Hermione's face flushed pink while Ron's scrunched into a scowl.

"That's not true!" She stood up, slamming the book shut. Lockhart was jolted out of his frame. "There's more to this story – and Professor Lockhart – than you think!" With an angry huff, she whipped around her bushy mane and marched up the stairs towards the girls' dorms.

"No need to get all riled up," grumbled Ron, trudging towards the boys' dorm.

"And here I thought Hermione valued intellect more than looks," sighed Fred dramatically, shaking his head in disappointment. "But at the end of the day, she's just a girl, lovesick as the rest of them."

"Too bad you're not smart _or_ handsome, Ron," snickered George, nudging his brother in the side. "You don't stand a chance."

Ron's face flushed out of either embarrassment or anger. Or both. "Don't stand a chance…?!" His voice notched up an octave. "Not like I'm trying to impress anybody to begin with!" He scowled and stomped off angrily, muttering underneath his breath all the while. A moment later there was the sound of a door slamming shut.

"Now who's the one getting riled up?" grumbled George, heading towards the boys' dorm too. Fred chortled and patted him on the shoulder. Harry rolled his eyes and followed after them. He veered off to the left to enter the Second Years' dorm room while the twins headed further down to reach their room. After taking their showers, the pair headed back into the Common Room for a game of Exploding Snap. They stopped short of themselves when they caught sight of the figure on the couch.

"Perce!" they cried out.

Percy, who had been staring into the fireplace blankly, turned his head towards them. His pained expression quickly morphed into one of annoyance, a look the twins were all to familiar with.

"I thought you were out on the grounds." His voice sounded accusatory, as if upset that the twins were back inside.

"We came back early to see you!" chirped Fred gaily, jumping down on the couch beside his brother. Percy grimaced.

"Barely seen you at all this past week," George continued, sitting on Percy's other side. He raised his eyebrows. "Keep patrolling the halls at this rate and you'll be the new Mrs. Norris."

"Dunno why you're spending so much time patrolling anyway," added Fred. "There's not many of us to watch."

"Since there are only three Prefects here over break," Percy sniffed importantly, "I have had to invest more time in my duties. It's called taking _responsibility_." He raised his brows meaningfully. "A foreign concept to you two, no doubt."

"Oi, we're plenty responsible!" George huffed indignantly. "Why, we're being responsible siblings right now by checking in on you!"

Percy snorted. "Checking in on me?"

George softened in concern. "We've barely seen you around this past week." He placed a hand gently on his brother's shoulder. "And we know there's more to it than your _responsibilities_ as a Prefect."

Percy stiffened. He clenched his jaw defensively. "…What do you mean?"

Fred sighed and shook his head. "C'mon, Perce, don't do us like that. We're brothers." He smiled. "We know you."

Percy looked from one twin to the other before glancing away from both of them and staring into the fireplace instead. His glasses reflected the flickering flames.

"You've been keeping to yourself a lot recently. More so than usual." Fred paused and said slowly, "Ever since that night you and McDouglas patrolled."

Percy stiffened at the mention of the Ravenclaw.

"…Listen," sighed George after a stretch of silence. "We know this isn't the most comfortable conversation to have. Especially with us." He smiled knowingly at his twin, who chuckled and nodded. "But we're your brothers, Perce." He placed a hand on Percy's shoulder and squeezed gently. "You can tell us anything." He meant it, too. Although George and Fred gave Percy hell on a daily basis, it was all meant in good fun. They loved their brother and didn't like seeing him this way. It wasn't healthy for him to keep all his feelings bottled up. Besides, hearing their outside perspective might provide him with some sound advice. (Alright, that may have been a stretch, but they were at least willing to try.)

Percy shook his head. "You're friends with Wood," he reasoned. "I'm not putting you in that position."

It was a fair point, actually. It wasn't so much an issue of trust as it was loyalty. It would be unfair for the twins to choose sides between their Captain and their brother. They knew Percy was watching out for them (and himself), but they couldn't help but feel slighted.

"Fair enough." Fred smiled tightly and slapped Percy on the back. Though he tried to sound nonchalant, there was no hiding the hint of disappointment in his voice. "You always have to be looking out for us, don'tcha?" His tone was one of both endearment and exasperation.

Percy smirked. "That's my job," he replied, half-jokingly, half-snootily. "Not as a Prefect, but as your older brother." His eyes softened, and there was a rare and brief moment of understanding between the three redheads.

"Aw, we love you too," crooned George, alleviating the atmosphere as he playfully squeezed Percy's freckled cheek. Percy scowled and shoved him away.

"Enough of this." Percy waved off, acting as if they hadn't just had a moment of genuine bonding between them. Now that his moment of vulnerability was gone, they had all reverted back to their roles. "I haven't had free time like this in my hands for weeks. Who's up for a game of Exploding Snap?"

And so the three of them played their game of cards, laughing and playfully arguing with one another. The three Second Years eventually joined them, and the Gryffindor Common Room was soon filled with shrieks and smoke as the cards exploded randomly throughout the game. For the first time over break, Percy had stopped thinking about Cara and worrying about school and his Prefect duties. Nor was he reprimanding his brothers for defying school rules or pulling a prank. He was in fact touched by their concern for him, and even though he had denied them the opportunity of filling in the latest gossip, he felt closer to them than he had in a long time. And for once, he was having fun.

* * *

The city was overwhelming during the Christmas season. The streetlights were strewn with Christmas lights and holly and mistletoe while stilt walkers towered over homey Christmas market stalls and the locals blasted their pipes in the streets, prancing about in nothing but their kilts. Oliver chuckled to himself and shook his head as he passed by a drunk shamelessly trying to pick up a pair of pretty girls. Ah, yes, home sweet home. As beautiful and magical as it was hiding away from the world in the Highlands at Hogwarts, there was nothing quite like the madness of Glasgow. Oliver loved every second of it.

He noticed a large crowd gathered along an open space. Watching street performers, no doubt. Sidestepping a pair of American tourists (who, to Oliver's annoyance, were loudly complaining about haggis) he joined the edge of the crowd to take a peek at the performance. To his surprise – and great amusement – it wasn't a dancing or musical performance, but a "magic" performance. Magic by Muggle standards, of course. When he was young he'd nearly given away the secret about wizards while watching a Muggle magician perform, so outraged and insulted he'd been. (Luckily, his mum had shut him up before he'd had a chance to say anything detrimental.) He remembered how condescending he'd been, declaring that Muggle magic was nothing but deception; a trick of the eye. Being able to pull a rabbit out of a top hat certainly did not mean you held magical prowess. Over the years, though, he'd learned to appreciate Muggle magic. It was actually rather endearing and cute, how they tried to play wizard for a day. After all the centuries of witch hunting and wizard discrimination, here they were trying to have a taste of their world. All rather ironic, really.

"Now, does everybody remember how earlier in the show I burned away the card she chose?" the magician was saying, referring to his volunteer. The crowd mumbled their answer. "If you could, m'dear, reach into your pocket…"

The audience gasped and 'ooh'ed and 'aah'ed when the volunteer fished out a card from her pocket. She showed it to the audience upon the magician's request, and the audience erupted into applause. Apparently, it was the same card she had selected and the magician had burned away earlier in the show. Impressive, if that were the case. Despite all the shite Oliver gave the Muggle magicians, he did have to acknowledge their brilliance and finesse; he certainly wouldn't be able to do their tricks without his wand.

"Thank you, thank you!" The magician tipped his wool cap in humble acknowledgement. "And give our beauty from Belfast a special round of applause!" He gestured grandly to his volunteer, who turned towards the audience to smile and wave. When Oliver caught a glimpse of her face, he first couldn't believe who he saw. He blinked. Then rubbed his eyes. And pinched himself. But still standing in front of the audience – and now heading back into the crowd after receiving a cheeky kiss on the hand from the magician – was none other than Cara McDouglas.

Shaking himself from his initial shock, he shoved his way through the quickly dispersing crowd, heading in her direction. He stopped and frowned when he couldn't find her. Had that really been McDouglas? Or had it just been another strawberry blonde? But he'd been certain it was her! What kind of fake boyfriend was he if he couldn't even recognize his fake girlfriend?!

"…Wood?"

He turned around to see McDouglas staring back at him, looking just as shocked as he had no doubt looked only moments ago. Her eyes were wide as saucers and her mouth was slack. He grinned at her, amused by her dumbfounded expression. It was a rare sight to see McDouglas out of her element, and it pleased him to no end.

"McDouglas," he greeted casually, acting as if he'd run into her in the corridors of the Hogwarts castle rather than on the streets of Glasgow. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Fancy seeing…?!" She spluttered for a moment, to his immense amusement. "That's all you've got to say?"

He paused, pretending to be thoughtful. "Merry Christmas," he added, his grin becoming cheekier by the moment. Her frazzled composure finally gave way to exasperation. She rolled her eyes and laughed.

"And a Happy New Year," she replied. She laughed again and shook her head, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. "This is crazy, running into you here. What're the odds?"

Oliver shrugged. "You're the one who received an O in Arithmetic, not me." He grinned and stuck his hands in his pockets. "You do realize I'm from around here, right?"

"Of course," she replied, almost sounding insulted that he even had to ask. "That's why we chose Glasgow as the city where we 'fell in love' over the summer, remember?"

Oliver supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. McDouglas was ever the detailed one. They had spent a lot of time coming up with the story about how they had transitioned from foe to girlfriend-boyfriend in order to make it seem as realistic as possible.

"I'm touched you remember that about me, _love_ ," he teased. She rolled her eyes. "But it begs the question – what are _you_ doing here?" He raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be back home?"

She raised an eyebrow in return and folded her arms across her chest. "So I remember all these little details about you – being a good girlfriend and all, of course" – Oliver rolled his eyes – "yet you can't remember any about me?" He frowned in confusion. "I have family here," she elaborated.

He paused. "Wait, so you really _do_ have cousins that live here?" He'd assumed she'd fabricated that part of the story to make things more convenient for them.

"Uh-huh." She rolled back and forth on the balls of her feet. "And they really do attend St. Andrew's – hence our 'run-in' at the cathedral. Speaking of which…" She glanced at the clock tower behind her. "I need to leave soon to attend mass. My family's waiting for me."

It was only now that Oliver took a good look at what she was wearing. She wore a knee-length wool coat tied around her slim waist, hiding what he assumed to be a dress underneath, and black tights with long boots. He noticed, too, that her hair was not its usual straight but had been curled for the occasion. Briefly he wondered just what she looked like in her dress, then he wondered why such a thought had ever crossed his mind to begin with. He supposed he was simply curious what she looked like in formal attire. He'd only ever seen her in her school uniform and casual wear, after all.

The absurdity of her dressed so nicely yet cruising around the streets of Glasgow and volunteering in a street show made him laugh. She frowned at him confusion.

"What?" she huffed defensively. "Think mass is a joke?"

He quickly backtracked, never having meant to insult her religion. But before he could explain himself, a familiar voice interjected.

"Made a new friend have you, Ollie?"

It was just like his mother to try to get between him and a girl. Luckily, this girl was only McDouglas; he hadn't been trying to impress her. His mother came to a halt on his right, smiling curiously at McDouglas while shooting her son a furtive glance.

"Actually, Mum," he corrected, caught between amusement and exasperation, "we already know each other." She frowned in confusion. "This is one of my classmates from school. Mum, meet Mc – Cara." Her given name didn't roll off his tongue as easily as McDouglas did. "Cara, this is me mum."

His mother brightened. "A friend from school? Why didn't you say so!" She guffawed and slapped him on the back. He grunted. "Pleasure to meet you, dear!" She shook McDouglas's hand enthusiastically.

McDouglas, though appearing taken aback by his mum's animated nature, smiled politely and replied, "The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Wood."

"Oh, I see you're from Ireland!" she replied excitedly. Oliver sensed that she was in one of her blabbering moods and intended on chatting McDouglas's ear off. "Where abouts you from? And what brings you to Glasgow?"

"I'm from a small village on the outskirts of Belfast, and I'm here visiting family." She hesitated, glancing antsily back at the clock tower. "I don't mean to be rude, but I really must be going."

"Already? But we've only just met!" Mrs. Wood frowned sadly. "It's not often I get a chance to see Ollie's friends. Say," she said suddenly, like a bright idea had just appeared to her, "I'm not sure how long you'll be in town, but we're going to the Underground tomorrow. We'd love for you and your family to join us." Oliver held his tongue. The last thing he wanted was to spend a whole day with McDouglas. And to meet her family! Now this was starting to feel like they really _were_ in a relationship! Though, he reasoned, it wasn't everyday he ran into a classmate in Glasgow. And he supposed it would be interesting to see how McDouglas acted outside the school environment.

McDouglas frowned in confusion. "The Underground?" The word sounded foreign on her tongue. "I'm sorry, but I don't know what that is."

This time Mrs. Wood frowned. "Really? The side of your family that lives here has never mentioned it? It's Glasgow's number one attraction!"

Oliver, however, immediately understood where the discrepancy was coming from. "Mum," he said sensitively, leaning in towards her, "McDouglas is Muggle-born."

Mrs. Wood's eyes sparked in understanding. "Oh, m'dear, now you _must_ come with us! But," she added seriously, "only bring the family members who know about your…" She made a swishing motion of a wand with her hand. "It's only for those who are part of our world, y'see. They have very strict limitations on who is allowed to enter." Not allowing McDouglas an opportunity to reply, she went on, "We can meet you lot at Café Avanti near Partick station at nine in the morning. Then we can all head down together."

McDouglas seemed overwhelmed, clearly not expecting that Mrs. Wood would go ahead and make arrangements with the assumption that she would be there. Trying not to be rude or offend Mrs. Wood, she started unsurely, "Erm…as excited – and grateful – as I am at your invitation, Mrs. Wood, I–"

"Don't worry if you can't make it, darling," she interrupted cheerily, waving off her concern as if it were no more than gnat. "I'm sure you have a packed schedule during your stay here, but I highly recommend you take some time out of that busy schedule to take a field trip with us to the Underground. It'll be so much fun!" Her eyes glimmered with the excitement of a child.

McDouglas didn't seem to know what to make of Oliver's mother, and he didn't blame her. She could be a little…much.

Oliver cleared his throat. "And if you can't make it, no worries. I'll send you an owl, yeah?" He started to steer her away, knowing his mother would hold her hostage otherwise. "Go on now, before a bolt of lightning strikes you in punishment for missing mass!" He waggled a finger at her playful sternness.

She glared at him while his mother reprimanded him. "Hope a lightning bolt strikes you," she muttered, quietly enough so that only he heard. Then she smiled brightly at his mum. "Hopefully I'll get a chance to see you tomorrow, Mrs. Wood. If not, it was so nice meeting you!"

"The same to you," she replied warmly. "And even if you can't make it tomorrow, I hope we can have some tea before you leave."

McDouglas agreed and waved goodbye before finally taking her leave. Oliver sighed in exasperation and scowled at his mother.

"Sorry darling," she said, thinking he was upset at her for taking too much of McDouglas's time. "You know how I can get sometimes. Especially around the girls." Her eyes glimmered mischievously while a cat-like smirk danced across her lips. "She's pretty, that one."

Oliver twitched, knowing where this was headed. "Don't start, Mum."

"What?" She batted her eyelashes innocently and shrugged. "It was just an observation." She grinned. "An observation I'm sure you've made too."

"It's the personality that matters," Oliver said instead, neither denying nor confirming his mother's opinion. "And as for McDouglas's personality…" He trailed off. "Well, I guess you'll see for yourself tomorrow."

* * *

 _Another three month update. And it'll be probably be longer than that for my next update. Y'see, I'll be traveling to Western Europe right after I graduate in May (going first to Ireland and Scotland to see Cara and Oliver's homelands! SO EXCITED) and then when I get back in late June I need to start preparing to move out the house in July. Y'know, start my career and all that. *Sob* So all that personal information I just gave you basically means: **I won't update until August at the earliest** **unless I write Chapter 10 this month** (which very well may be a possibility - I will try my best).  
_

 _As always, a big thank you to all of you who read, review, follow, and favorite my story. Until next time!_


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